f p S 3513 
L35 P6 
'1920 
[Copy i 



AYS 



■ By 

Susan Glaspell 




BOSTON 

Small, Maynard 
& Company 







Glass _£S_^51L3 
Bnhlc«Li 3fi'T } (n 

COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



PLAYS 



BY 



SUSAN GLASPELL 




BOSTON 

SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 



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Copyright, 1920, 

By SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY 

(incorporated) 



PRODUCTION OF ANY OF THE PLAYS HEREIN PRINTED 
MUST NOT BE MADE EXCEPT BY WRITTEN PERMIS- 
SION OF THE AUTHOR, WHO MAY BE AD- 
DRESSED IN CARE OF THE PUBLISHERS 



©&A571624 

JUL 



PRESS OF GEO. H. ELLIS CO., BOSTON 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

Trifles. A Play in One Act I 

The People. A Play in One Act 31 

Close the Book. A Comedy in One Act . 61 

The Outside. A Play in One Act .... 97 
Woman's Honor. A Comedy in One Act . .119 

Bernice. A Play in Three Acts 157 

Suppressed Desires. A Comedy in Tzvo Scenes 231 

(IN COLLABORATION WITH GEORGE CRAM COOK) 

Tickless Time. A Comedy in One Act . . . 273 

(lN COLLABORATION WITH GEORGE CRAM COOK) 



TRIFLES 

A PLAY IN ONE ACT 



First Performed by the Provincetown Players at the 

Wharf Theatre, Provincetown, Mass., 

August 8, 1916 



ORIGINAL CAST 

George Henderson, County Attorney Robert Rogers 
Henry Peters, Sheriff ... . Rorert Conville 
Lewis Hale, A Neighboring Farmer 

George Cram Cook 

Mrs. Peters Alice Hall 

Mrs. Hale Susan Glaspell 



TRIFLES 

Scene: The kitchen in the now abandoned farm- 
house of John Wright, a gloomy kitchen, and left 
without having been put in order — unwashed pans 
under the sink, a loaf of bread outside the bread-box, 
a dish-towel on the table — other signs of incompleted 
work. At the rear the outer door opens and the 
Sheriff comes in followed by the County Attorney 
and Hale. The Sheriff and Hale are men in middle 
life, the County Attorney is a young man; all are 
much bundled up and go at once to the stove. They 
are followed by the two women — the Sheriff's wife 
first; she is a slight wiry woman, a thin nervous face. 
Mrs. Hale is larger and would ordinarily be called 
more comfortable looking, but she is disturbed now 
and looks fearfully about as she enters. The women 
have come in slowly, and stand close together near the 
door. 

County Attorney 

[Rubbing his hands.] This feels good. Come up 
to the fire, ladies. 

Mrs. Peters 
[After taking a step forward.] I'm not — cold. 

Sheriff 

[Unbuttoning his overcoat and stepping away from 
the stove as if to mark the beginning of official busi- 
ness.] Now, Mr. Hale, before we move things about, 

3 



4 TRIFLES 

you explain to Mr. Henderson just what you saw 
when you came here yesterday morning. 

County Attorney 

By the way, has anything been moved? Are things 
just as you left them yesterday? 

Sheriff 

[Looking about.] It's just the same. When it 
dropped below zero last night I thought I'd better 
send Frank out this morning to make a fire for us — 
no use getting pneumonia with a big case on, but I 
told him not to touch anything except the stove — 
and you know Frank. 

County Attorney 
Somebody should have been left here yesterday. 

Sheriff 

Oh — yesterday. When I had to send Frank to 
Morris Center for that man who went crazy — I want 
you to know I had my hands full yesterday. I knew 
you could get back from Omaha by today and as 
long as I went over everything here myself — 

County Attorney 

Well, Mr. Hale, tell just what happened when you 
came here yesterday morning. 

Hale 

Harry and I had started to town with a load of 
potatoes. We came along the road from my place 
and as I got here I said, " I'm going to see if I can't 



TRIFLES 5 

get John Wright to go in with me on a party telephone." 
I spoke to Wright about it once before and he put 
me off, saying folks talked too much anyway, and all 
he asked was peace and quiet — I guess you know 
about how much he talked himself ; but I thought 
maybe if I went to the house and talked about it before 
his wife, though I said to Harry that I didn't know 
as what his wife wanted made much difference to 
John — 

County Attorney 

Let's talk about that later, Mr. Hale. I do want 
to talk about that, but tell now just what happened 
when you got to the house. 

Hale 

I didn't hear or see anything; I knocked at the 
door, and still it was all quiet inside. I knew they 
must be up, it was past eight o'clock. So I knocked 
again, and I thought I heard somebody say, " Come in." 
I wasn't sure, I'm not sure yet, but I opened the door 
— this door [indicating the door by which the ttvo 
women are still standing'] and there in that rocker — 
[pointing to it] sat Mrs. Wright. 

[They all look at the rocker. 

County Attorney 
What — ■■ was she doing ? 

Hale 

She was rockin' back and forth. She had her apron 
in her hand and was kind of — pleating it. 



6 TRIFLES 

County Attorney 
And how did she — look? 

Hale 
Well, she looked queer. 

County Attorney 
How do you mean — queer ? 

Hale 

Well, as if she didn't know what she was going 
to do next. And kind of done up. 

County Attorney 
How did she seem to feel about your coming? 

Hale 

Why, I don't think she minded — one way or other. 
She didn't pay much attention. I said, " How do, 
Mrs. Wright, it's cold, ain't it?" And she said, "Is 
it ? " — and went on kind of pleating at her apron. 
Well, I was surprised; she didn't ask me to come up 
to the stove, or to set down, but just sat there, not even 
looking at me, so I said, " I want to see John." And 
then she — laughed. I guess you would call it a laugh. 
I thought of Harry and the team outside, so I said 
a little sharp: "Can't I see John?" "No," she 
says, kind o' dull like. " Ain't he home ? " says I. 
" Yes," says she, " he's home." " Then why can't I 
see him?" I asked her, out of patience. "'Cause 
he's dead," says she. "Dead?" says I. She just 
nodded her head, not getting a bit excited, but rockin' 
back and forth. " Why — where is he ? " says I, not 



TRIFLES 7 

knowing what to say. She just pointed upstairs — 
like that [himself pointing to the room above]. I 
got up, with the idea of going up there. I walked 
from there to here — then I says, " Why, what did 
he die of ? " " He died of a rope round his neck," 
says she, and just went on pleatin' at her apron. Well, 
I went out and called Harry. I thought I might — 
need help. We went upstairs and there he was lyin' — 

County Attorney 

I think I'd rather have you go into that upstairs, 
where you can point it all out. Just go on now with 
the rest of the story. 

Hale 

Well, my first thought was to get that rope off. It 
looked . . . [Stops, his face twitches] . . . but Harry, 
he went up to him, and he said, " No, he's dead all 
right, and we'd better not touch anything." So we 
went back down stairs. She was still sitting that same 
way. " Has anybody been notified ? " I asked. " No," 
says she, unconcerned. " Who did this, Mrs. 
Wright ? " said Harry. He said it business-like — 
and she stopped pleatin' of her apron. " I don't 
know," she says. "You don't know?" says Harry. 
" No," says she. " Weren't you sleepin' in the bed 
with him ? " says Harry. " Yes," says she, " but I 
was on the inside." " Somebody slipped a rope round 
his neck and strangled him and you didn't wake up ? " 
says Harry. " I didn't wake up," she said after him. 
We must 'a looked as if we didn't see how that could 
be, for after a minute she said, " I sleep sound." 
Harry was going to ask her more questions but I said 
maybe we ought to let her tell her story first to the 



8 TRIFLES 

coroner, or the sheriff, so Harry went fast as he could 
to Rivers' place, where there's a telephone. 

County Attorney 

And what did Mrs. Wright do when she knew that 
you had gone for the coroner? 

Hale 

She moved from that chair to this one over here 
[Pointing to a small chair in the corner] and just sat 
there with her hands held together and looking down. 
I got a feeling that I ought to make come conversation, 
so I said I had come in to see if John wanted to put 
in a telephone, and at that she started to laugh, and 
then she stopped and looked at me — scared. [The 
County Attorney, who has had his notebook out, 
makes a note.] I dunno, maybe it wasn't scared. I 
wouldn't like to say it was. Soon Harry got back, and 
then Dr. Lloyd came, and you, Mr. Peters, and so I 
guess that's all I know that you don't. 

County Attorney 

[Looking around.] I guess we'll go upstairs first 
— and then out to the barn and around there. [To 
the Sheriff.] You're convinced that there was noth- 
ing important here — nothing that would point to any 
motive. 

Sheriff 

Nothing here but kitchen things. 

[The County Attorney, after again 
looking around the kitchen, opens 
the door of a cupboard closet. He 
gets up on a chair and looks on a 
shelf. Pulls his hand away, sticky. 



TRIFLES 9 

County Attorney 

Here's a nice mess. 

[The women draw nearer. 

Mrs. Peters 

[To the other woman.] Oh, her fruit ; it did freeze. 
[To the Lawyer.] She worried about that when it 
turned so cold. She said the fire'd go out and her 
jars would break. 

Sheriff 

Well, can you beat the women! Held for murder 
and worryin' about her preserves. 

County Attorney 

I guess before we're through she may have some- 
thing more serious than preserves to worry about. 

Hale 

Well, women are used to worrying over trifles. 

[The two women move, a little closer 
together. 

County Attorney 

[With the gallantry of a young politician.'] And 
yet, for all their worries, what would we do without 
the ladies? [The women do not unbend. He goes 
to the sink, takes a dipperful of water from the pail 
and pouring it into a basin, washes his hands. Starts 
to wipe them on the roller-tozvel, turns it for a cleaner 
place.] Dirty towels ! [Kicks his foot against the 
pans under the sink.] Not much of a housekeeper, 
would you say, ladies? 



io TRIFLES 

Mrs. Hale 

[Stiffly.] There's a great deal of work to be done 
on a farm. 

County Attorney 

To be sure. And yet [With a little bow to her] I 
know there are some Dickson county farmhouses which 
do not have such roller towels. 

[He gives it a pull to expose its full 
length again. 

Mrs. Hale 

Those towels get dirty awful quick. Men's hands 
aren't always as clean as they might be. 

County Attorney 

Ah, loyal to your sex, I see. But you and Mrs. 
Wright were neighbors. I suppose you were friends, 
too. 

Mrs. Hale 

[Shaking her head.] I've not seen much of her of 
late years. I've not been in this house — it's more 
than a year. 

County Attorney 
And why was that? You didn't like her? 

Mrs. Hale 

I liked her all well enough. Farmers' wives have 
their hands full, Mr. Henderson. And then — 

County Attorney 

Yes—? 



TRIFLES ii 

Mrs. Hale 

[Looking about.] It never seemed a very cheerful 
place. 

County Attorney 

No — it's not cheerful. I shouldn't say she had the 
homemaking instinct. 

Mrs. Hale 
Well, I don't know as Wright had, either. 

County Attorney 
You mean that they didn't get on very well? 

Mrs. Hale 

No, I don't mean anything. But I don't think a 
place'd be any cheerfuller for John Wright's being 
in it. 

County Attorney 

I'd like to talk more of that a little later. I want 
to get the lay of things upstairs now. 

[He goes to the left, where three steps 
lead to a stair door. 

Sheriff 

I suppose anything Mrs. Peters does'll be all right. 
She was to take in some clothes for her, you know, 
and a few little things. We left in such a hurry 
yesterday. 

County Attorney 
Yes, but I would like to see what you take, Mrs. 



12 TRIFLES 

Peters, and keep an eye out for anything that might 
be of use to us. 

Mrs. Peters 

Yes, Mr. Henderson. 

[The women listen to the men's steps 
on the stairs, then look about the 
kitchen. 

Mrs. Hale 

I'd hate to have men coming into my kitchen, snoop- 
ing around and criticising. 

[She arranges the pans under sink which 
the Lawyer had shoved oat of place. 

Mrs. Peters 
Of course it's no more than their duty. 

Mrs. Hale 

Duty's all right, but I guess that deputy sheriff that 
came out to make the fire might have got a little of 
this on. [Gives the roller towel a pull.] Wish I'd 
thought of that sooner. Seems mean to talk about 
her for not having things slicked up when she had 
to come away in such a hurry. 

Mrs. Peters 

[Who has gone to a small table in the left rear 
comer of the room, and lifted one end of a towel 
that covers a pan.] She had bread set. 

[Stands still. 

Mrs. Hale 

[Eyes fixed on a loaf of bread beside the bread- 



TRIFLES 13 

box, which is on a low shelf at the other side of the 
room. Moves slowly toward it.] She was going to 
put this in there. [Picks up loaf, then abruptly drops 
it. In a manner of returning to familiar things.] It's 
a shame about her fruit. I wonder if it's all gone. 
[Gets up on the chair and looks.] I think there's 
some here that's all right, Mrs. Peters. Yes — here; 
[Holding it toward the window] this is cherries, too. 
[Looking again.] I declare I believe that's the only 
one. [Gets down, bottle in her hand. Goes to the 
sink and wipes it off on the outside.] She'll feel 
awful bad after all her hard work in the hot weather. 
I remember the afternoon I put up my cherries last 
summer. 

[She puts the bottle on the big kitchen 
table, center of the room. With a 
sigh, is about to sit down in the 
rocking-chair. Before she is seated 
realises what chair it is; with a slow 
look at it, steps back. The chair 
which she has touched rocks back 
and forth. 

Mrs. Peters 

Well, I must get those things from the front room 
closet. [She goes to the door at the right, but after 
looking into the other room, steps back.] You com- 
ing with me, Mrs. Hale? You could help me carry 
them. 

[They go in the other room; reappear, 
Mrs. Peters carrying a dress and 
skirt, Mrs. Hale following with a 
pair of shoes. 



14 TRIFLES 

Mrs. Peters 

My, it's cold in there. 

[She puts the clothes on the big table, 
and hurries to the stove. 

Mrs. Hale 

[Examining the skirt.] Wright was close. I think 
maybe that's why she kept so much to herself. She 
didn't even belong to the Ladies Aid. I suppose she 
felt she couldn't do her part, and then you don't 
enjoy things when you feel shabby. She used to wear 
pretty clothes and be lively, when she was Minnie 
Foster, one of the town girls singing in the choir. 
But that — oh, that was thirty years ago. This all 
you was to take in ? 

Mrs. Peters 

She said she wanted an apron. Funny thing to 
want, for there isn't much to get you dirty in jail, 
goodness knows. But I suppose just to make her feel 
more natural. She said they was in the top drawer in 
this cupboard. Yes, here. And then her little shawl 
that always hung behind the door. [Opens stair door 
and looks.] Yes, here it is. 

[Quickly shuts door leading upstairs. 

Mrs. Hale 
[Abruptly moving toward her.] Mrs. Peters? 

Mrs. Peters 
Yes, Mrs. Hale? 

Mrs. Hale 
Do you think she did it? 



TRIFLES 15 

Mrs. Peters 
[In a frightened voice.] Oh, I don't know. 

Mrs. Hale 

Well, I don't think she did. Asking for an apron 
and her little shawl. Worrying about her fruit. 

Mrs. Peters 

[Starts to speak, glances up, where footsteps are 
heard in the room above. In a low voice.] Mr. 
Peters says it looks bad for her. Mr. Henderson is 
awful sarcastic in a speech and he'll make fun of her 
sayin' she didn't wake up. 

Mrs. Hale 

Well, I guess John Wright didn't wake when they 
was slipping that rope under his neck. 

Mrs. Peters 

No, it's strange. It must have been done awful 
crafty and still. They say it was such a — funny way 
to kill a man, rigging it all up like that. 

Mrs. Hale 

That's just what Mr. Hale said. There was a gun 
in the house. He says that's what he can't under- 
stand. 

Mrs. Peters 

Mr. Henderson said coming out that what was 
needed for the case was a motive; something to show 
anger, or — sudden feeling. 



16 TRIFLES 

Mrs. Hale 

[Who is standing by the table.] Well, I don't see 
any signs of anger around here. [She puts her hand 
on the dish towel which lies on the table, stands look- 
ing down at table, one half of which is clean, the 
other half messy.] It's wiped to here. [Makes a 
move as if to finish work, then turns and looks at loaf 
of bread outside the breadbox. Drops tozvel. In that 
voice of coming back to familiar things.] Wonder 
how they are finding things upstairs. I hope she had 
it a little more red-up up there. You know, it seems 
kind of sneaking. Locking her up in town and then 
coming out here and trying to get her own house to 
turn against her! 

Mrs. Peters 
But Mrs. Hale, the law is the law. 

Mrs. Hale 

I s'pose 'tis. [Unbuttoning her coat.] Better 
loosen up your things, Mrs. Peters. You won't feel 
them when you go out. 

[Mrs. Peters takes off her fur tippet, 
goes to hang it on hook at back of 
room, stands looking at the under 
part of the small corner table. 

Mrs. Peters 

She was piecing a quilt. 

[She brings the large sezving basket and 
they look at the bright pieces. 



TRIFLES 17 

Mrs. Hale 

It's log cabin pattern. Pretty, isn't it? I wonder 
if she was goin' to quilt it or just knot it? 

[Footsteps have been heard coming down 
the stairs. The Sheriff enters fol- 
lowed by Hale and the County 
Attorney. 

Sheriff 

They wonder if she was going to quilt it or just 
knot it ! 

[The men laugh, the women look 
abashed. 

County Attorney 

[Rubbing his hands over the stove.'] Frank's fire 
didn't do much up there, did it? Well, let's go out 
to the barn and get that cleared up. 

[The men go outside. 

Mrs. Hale 

[Resentfully.'] I don't know as there's anything so 
strange, our takin' up our time with little things while 
we're waiting for them to get the evidence. [She sits 
down at the big table smoothing out a block with de- 
cision.] I don't see as it's anything to laugh about. 

Mrs. Peters 

[Apologetically.] Of course they've got awful im- 
portant things on their minds. 

[Pulls up a chair and joins Mrs. Hale 
at the table. 



18 TRIFLES 

Mrs. Hale 

[Examining another block.] Mrs. Peters, look at 
this one. Here, this is the one she was working on, 
and look at the sewing! All the rest of it has been 
so nice and even. And look at this ! It's all over 
the place! Why, it looks as if she didn't know what 
she was about ! 

[After she has said this they look at 

each other, then start to glance back 

at the door. After an instant Mrs. 

Hale has pulled at a knot and ripped 

the sewing. 

Mrs. Peters 
Oh, what are you doing, Mrs. Hale? 

Mrs. Hale 

[Mildly.] Just pulling out a stitch or two that's 
not sewed very good. [Threading a needle.] Bad 
sewing always made me fidgety. 

Mrs. Peters 

[Nervously.] I don't think we ought to touch 
things. 

Mrs. Hale 

I'll just finish up this end. [Suddenly stopping and 
leaning forward.] Mrs. Peters? 

Mrs. Peters 
Yes, Mrs. Hale? 

Mrs. Hale 
What do you suppose she was so nervous about? 



TRIFLES 19 

Mrs. Peters 

Oh — I don't know. I don't know as she was ner- 
vous. I sometimes sew awful queer when I'm just 
tired. [Mrs. Hale starts to say something, looks at 
Mrs. Peters, then goes on sewing.] Well I must get 
these things wrapped up. They may be through 
sooner than we think. [Putting apron and other 
things together.] I wonder where I can find a piece 
of paper, and string. 

Mrs. Hale 
In that cupboard, maybe. 

Mrs. Peters 

[Looking in cupboard.] Why, here's a bird-cage. 
[Holds it up.] Did she have a bird, Mrs. Hale? 

Mrs. Hale 

Why, I don't know whether she did or not — I've 
not been here for so long. There was a man around 
last year selling canaries cheap, but I don't know as 
she took one; maybe she did. She used to sing real 
pretty herself. 

Mrs. Peters 

[Glancing around.] Seems funny to think of a bird 
here. But she must have had one, or why would 
she have a cage? I wonder what happened to it. 

Mrs. Hale 
I s'pose maybe the cat got it. 



20 TRIFLES 

Mrs. Peters 

No, she didn't have a cat. She's got that feeling 
some people have about cats — being afraid of them. 
My cat got in her room and she was real upset and 
asked me to take it out. 

Mrs. Hale 
My sister Bessie was like that. Queer, ain't it ? 

Mrs. Peters 

[Examining the cage.] Why, look at this door. 
It's broke. One hinge is pulled apart. 

Mrs. Hale 

[Looking too.] Looks as if someone must have 
been rough with it. 

Mrs. Peters 

Why, yes. 

[She brings the cage forward and puts 
it on the table. 

Mrs. Hale 

I wish if they're going to find any evidence they'd 
be about it. I don't like this place. 

Mrs. Peters 

But I'm awful glad you came with me, Mrs. Hale. 
It would be lonesome for me sitting here alone. 

Mrs. Hale 

It would, wouldn't it? [Dropping her sewing.] 
But I tell you what I do wish, Mrs. Peters. I wish 



TRIFLES 21 

I had come over sometimes when she was here. I — 
[Looking around the room] — wish I had. 

Mrs. Peters 

But of course you were awful busy, Mrs. Hale — 
your house and your children. 

Mrs. Hale 

I could've come. I stayed away because it weren't 
cheerful — and that's why I ought to have come. I — 
I've never liked this place. Maybe because it's down 
in a hollow and you don't see the road. I dunno 
what it is, but it's a lonesome place and always was. 
I wish I had come over to see Minnie Foster some- 
times. I can see now — 

[Shakes her head. 
Mrs. Peters 

Well, you mustn't reproach yourself, Mrs. Hale. 
Somehow we just don't see how it is with other folks 
until — something comes up. 

Mrs. Hale 

Not having children makes less work — but it makes 
a quiet house, and Wright out to work all day, and no 
company when he did come in. Did you know John 
Wright, Mrs. Peters? 

Mrs. Peters 

Not to know him; I've seen him in town. They 
say he was a good man. 

Mrs. Hale 
Yes — good; he didn't drink, and kept his word as 



22 TRIFLES 

Well as most, I guess, and paid his debts. But he 
was a hard man, Mrs. Peters. Just to pass the time 
of day with him — [Shivers.] Like a raw wind that 
gets to the bone. [Pauses, her eye falling on the 
cage.] I should think she would 'a wanted a bird. 
But what do you suppose went with it? 

Mrs. Peters 

I don't know, unless it got sick and died. 

[She reaches oi>er and swings the broken 
door, swings it again, both women 
watch it. 

Mrs. Hale 

You weren't raised round here, were you? [Mrs. 
Peters shakes her head.] You didn't know — her? 

Mrs. Peters 
Not till they brought her yesterday. 

Mrs. Hale 

She — come to think of it, she was kind of like a 
bird herself — real sweet and pretty, but kind of timid 
and — fluttery. How — she — did — change. [Si- 
lence; then as if struck by a happy thought and re- 
lieved to get back to every day things.] Tell you 
what, Mrs. Peters, why don't you take the quilt in 
with you ? It might take up her mind. 

Mrs. Peters 

Why, I think that's a real nice idea, Mrs. Hale. 
There couldn't possibly be any objection to it, could 



TRIFLES 23 

there? Now, just what would I take? I wonder if 
her patches are in here — and her things. 

[They look in the sewing basket. 

Mrs. Hale 

Here's some red. I expect this has got sewing 
things in it. [Brings out a fancy box.] What a 
pretty box. Looks like something somebody would 
give you. Maybe her scissors are in here. [Opens 
box. Suddenly puts her hand to her nose.] Why — 
[Mrs. Peters bends nearer, then turns her face away.] 
There's something wrapped up in this piece of silk. 

Mrs. Peters 
Why, this isn't her scissors. 

Mrs. Hale 

[Lifting the silk.] Oh, Mrs. Peters — its — 

[Mrs. Peters bends closer. 

Mrs. Peters 
It's the bird. 

Mrs. Hale 

[Jumping up.] But, Mrs. Peters — look at it ! It's 
neck ! Look at its neck ! It's all — other side to. 

Mrs. Peters 

Somebody — wrung — its — neck. 

[Their eyes meet. A look of growing 
comprehension, of horror* Steps 
are heard outside. Mrs. Hale slips 
box under quilt pieces, and sinks 
into her chair. Enter Sheriff and 



24 TRIFLES 

County Attorney. Mrs. Peters 
rises. 

County Attorney 

[As one turning from serious things to little pleas- 
antries.] Well, ladies, have you decided whether she 
was going to quilt it or knot it ? 

Mrs. Peters 
We think she was going to — knot it. 

County Attorney 

Well, that's interesting, I'm sure. [Seeing the bird- 
cage.] Has the bird flown? 

Mrs. Hale 

[Putting more quilt pieces over the box.] We think 
the — cat got it. 

County Attorney 

[Preoccupied.] Is there a cat? 

[Mrs. Hale glances in a quick covert 
way at Mrs. Peters. 

Mrs. Peters 

Well, not now. They're superstitious, you know. 
They leave. 

County Attorney 

[To Sheriff Peters, continuing an interrupted 
conversation.] No sign at all of anyone having come 
from the outside. Their own rope. Now let's go 
up again and go over it piece by piece. [They start 



TRIFLES 25 

upstairs.] It would have to have been someone who 

knew just the — 

[Mrs. Peters sits down. The two 
women sit there not looking at one 
another, but as if peering into some- 
thing and at the same time holding 
back. When they talk now it is in 
the manner of feeling their way over 
strange ground, as if afraid of what 
they are saying, but as if they can 
not help saying it. 

Mrs. Hale 

She liked the bird. She was going to bury it in 
that pretty box. 

Mrs. Peters 

[In a whisper. 1 When I was a girl — my kitten 

— there was a boy took a hatchet, and before my eyes 

— and before I could get there — [Covers her face an 
instant.] If they hadn't held me back I would have — 
[Catches herself, looks upstairs where steps are heard, 
falters weakly] — hurt him. 

Mrs. Hale 

[With a slow look around her.] I wonder how it 
would seem never to have had any children around. 
[Pause.] No, Wright wouldn't like the bird — a thing 
that sang. She used to sing. He killed that, too. 

Mrs. Peters 

[Moving uneasily.] We don't know who killed the 
bird. 



26 TRIFLES 

Mrs. Hale 
I knew John Wright. 

Mrs. Peters 

It was an awful thing was done in this house that 
night, Mrs. Hale. Killing a man while he slept, slip- 
ping a rope around his neck that choked the life out 
of him. 

Mrs. Hale 

His neck. Choked the life out of him. 

[Her hand goes out and rests on the 
bird-cage. 

Mrs. Peters 

[With rising voice.] We don't know who killed 
him. We dont know. 

Mrs. Hale 

[Her own feeling not interrupted.] If there'd been 
years and years of nothing, then a bird to sing to you, 
it would be awful — still, after the bird was still. 

Mrs. Peters 

[Something within her speaking.] I know what 
stillness is. When we homesteaded in Dakota, and my 
first baby died — after he was two years old, and me 
with no other then — 

Mrs. Hale 

[Moving.] How soon do you suppose they'll be 
through, looking for the evidence? 



TRIFLES 27 

Mrs. Peters 

I know what stillness is. [Pulling herself back.] 
The law has got to punish crime, Mrs. Hale. 

Mrs. Hale 

[Not as if answering that.] I wish you'd seen 
Minnie Foster when she wore a white dress with blue 
ribbons and stood up there in the choir and sang. [A 
look around the room.] Oh, I wish I'd come over 
here once in a while ! That was a crime ! That was 
a crime ! Who's going to punish that ? 

Mrs. Peters 
[Looking upstairs.] We mustn't — take on. 

Mrs. Hale 

I might have known she needed help ! I know how 
things can be — for women. I tell you, it's queer, 
Mrs. Peters. We live close together and we live far 
apart. We all go through the same things — it's all 
just a different kind of the same thing. [Brushes 
her eyes, noticing the bottle of fruit, reaches out for it.] 
If I was you I wouldn't tell her her fruit was gone. 
Tell her it ain't. Tell her it's all right. Take this in 
to prove it to her. She — she may never know 
whether it was broke or not. 

Mrs. Peters 

[Takes the bottle, looks about for something to wrap 
it in; takes petticoat from the clothes brought from 
the other room, very nervously begins winding this 
around the bottle. In a false voice.] My, it's a good 
thing the men couldn't hear us. Wouldn't they just 



28 TRIFLES 

laugh! Getting all stirred up over a little thing like 
a — dead canary. As if that could have anything 
to do with — with — wouldn't they laugh 1 

[The men are heard coming down stairs. 

Mrs. Hale 

[Under her breath.] Maybe they would' — maybe 
they wouldn't. 

County Attorney 

No, Peters, it's all perfectly clear except a reason 
for doing it. But you know juries when it comes to 
women. If there was some definite thing. Something 
to show — something to make a story about — a thing 
that would connect up with this strange way of doing 
it — 

[The women's eyes meet for an instant. 
Enter Hale from outer door. 

Hale 

Well, I've got the team around. Pretty cold out 
there. 

County Attorney 

I'm going to stay here a while by myself. [To the 
Sheriff.] You can send Frank out for me, can't 
you ? I want to go over everything. I'm not satisfied 
that we can't do better. 

Sheriff 

Do you want to see what Mrs. Peters is going to 
take in? 

[The Lawyer goes to the table, picks up 
the apron, laughs. 



TRIFLES 29 

County Attorney 

Oh, I guess they're not very dangerous things the 
ladies have picked out. [Moves a fezu things about, 
disturbing the quilt pieces which cover the box. Steps 
back.] No, Mrs. Peters doesn't need supervising. 
For that matter, a sheriff's wife is married to the 
law. Ever think of it that way, Mrs. Peters? 

Mrs. Peters 
Not — just that way. 

Sheriff 

[Chuckling, ,] Married to the law. [Moves to- 
ward the other room.] I just want you to come in 
here a minute, George. We ought to take a look at 
these windows. 

County Attorney 
[ScoMngly.] Oh, windows! 

Sheriff 

We'll he right out, Mr. Hale. 

[Hale goes outside. The Sheriff fol- 
lows the County Attorney into the 
other room. Then Mrs. Hale rises, 
hands tight together, looking in- 
tensely at Mrs. Peters, whose eyes 
make a slow turn, finally meeting 
Mrs. Hale's. A moment Mrs. 
Hale holds her, then her own eyes 
point the way to where the box is 
concealed. Suddenly Mrs. Peters 
throws back quilt pieces and tries 
to put the box in the bag she is 



30 TRIFLES 

wearing. It is too big. She opens 
box, starts to take bird out, cannot 
touch it, goes to pieces, stands there 
helpless. Sound of a knob turning 
in the other room. Mrs. Hale 
snatches the box and puts it in the 
pocket of her big coat. Enter 
County Attorney and Sheriff. 

County Attorney 

[Facetiously.] Well, Henry, at least we found out 
that she was not going to quilt it. She was going 
to — what is it you call it, ladies ? 

Mrs. Hale 

[Her hand against her pocket.] We call it — knot 
it, Mr. Henderson. 

(Curtain) 



THE PEOPLE 

A PLAY IN ONE ACT 



First performed by the Provincetown Players 
New York, March 9, 1917 

ORIGINAL CAST 

Edward Wills, Editor of " The People " 

George Cram Cook 

Oscar Tripp, Associate Editor . Pendleton King 

The Artist Donald Corley 

Sara Nina Moise 

Tom Howe, Printer Lewis B. Ell 

The Boy from Georgia .... Leslie C. Bemis 

The Man from the Cape Ira Remsen 

The Woman from Idaho . . . Susan Glaspell 
The Earnest Approach .... Lew Parrish 

The Light Touch Pierre Loving 

The Firebrand ......... Harry Kemp 

The Philosopher .... Hutchinson Collins 



THE PEOPLE 

Scene : The office of " The People," a morning in 
March, 1917. There is little furniture — a long table 
strewn with manuscripts and papers, a desk. On the 
walls are revolutionary posters; wads of paper are 
thrown about on the floor — the office of a publication 
which is radical and poor. This is an inner office; 
at the rear is the door into the outer one. Oscar is 
seated at the table writing. .Tom, a printer who loves 
the cause — or the crowd — almost enough to print 
for it, comes from the other room, a galley-proof in 
his hand. 

Tom 

Why are you writing? 

Oscar 
[Jauntily.] Because I am a writer. 

Tom 

But I thought you said there wasn't going to be 
another issue of The People. 

Oscar 
[With dignity.] I am writing. 

Tom 
There's a woman here with a suit case. 

Oscar 
What's in it? 

33 



34 THE PEOPLE 

Tom 

She wants to see the Editor. 

Oscar 

[After writing.] All right. 

[Tom goes out and a moment later the 
woman appears. She is middle 
aged, wears plain clothes not in fash- 
ion. Her manner is a little shrink- 
ing and yet as she stands in the 
doorway looking about the bare 
room, her face is the face of one who 
has come a long way and reached a 
wonderful place. 

The Woman 

This is the office of The People? 

Oscar 
Um-hum. 

The Woman 

[In a bated way.] I came to see the author of those 
wonderful words. 

Oscar 

[Rising.] Which wonderful words? 

The Woman 
About moving toward the beautiful distances. 

Oscar 

Oh. Those are Mr. Wills' wonderful words. 

[Begins to write as one who has lost 
interest. 



THE PEOPLE 35 

The Woman 

Could I see him? 

Oscar 

He isn't here yet. He's just back from California. 
Won't be at the office till a little later. 

The Woman 

[With excitement.] He has been to California? 
He has just ridden across this country? 

Oscar 

Yes. Long trip. He was very cross over the 
'phone. 

The Woman 

Oh — no. I think you're mistaken. 

Oscar 
Anything you care to see me about? 

The Woman 

[After considering.] I could see him a little later, 
couldn't I ? 

Oscar 

Yes, if its important. Of course he'll be very busy. 

The Woman 

It is important. At least — yes, it is important. 

Oscar 
Very well then — later in the morning. 



36 THE PEOPLE 

The Woman 

[Thinking aloud.] I will stand down on the street 
and watch the people go by. 

Oscar 
What? 

The Woman 

The people. It's so wonderful to see them — so 
many of them. Don't you often just stand and watch 
them? 

Oscar 

No, madam, not often. I am too busy editing a 
magazine about them. 

The Woman 

Of course you are busy. You help edit this maga- 
zine? 

[Looks about at the posters. 

Oscar 

I am associate editor of The People. 

The Woman 

That's a great thing for you — and you so young. 
Does Mr. Wills write in this room? 

Oscar 
That is his desk. 

The Woman 

[Looking at the desk.] It must be a wonderful 
thing for you to write in the same room with him. 



THE PEOPLE 37 

Oscar 

Well, I don't know ; perhaps it is a wonderful thing 
for him to — I am Oscar Tripp, the poet. 

The Woman 

[Wistfully.] It would be beautiful to be a poet. 
[Pause.] I will come back later. 

[Picks up suit-case. 

Oscar 

Just leave that if you aren't going to be using it in 
the meantime. 

The Woman 

[Putting it down near the door.] Oh, thank you. 
I see you are a kind young man. 

Oscar 
That is not the general opinion. 

The Woman 

I wonder why it is that the general opinion is so 
often wrong? 

[Stands considering it for a moment, 
then goes out. 

Oscar 

I don't quite understand that woman. 

[Tom comes back. 

Tom 
If this paper can't go on, I ought to know it. I 



38 THE PEOPLE 

could get a job on the Evening World. [Oscar con- 
tinues writing.] Can it go on? 

Oscar 

I don't see how it can, but many a time I haven't 
seen how it could — and it did. Doubtless it will go 
on, and will see days so much worse than these that 
we will say, " Ah, the good old days of March, 1917." 

Tom 
But can it pay salaries? 

Oscar 

[Shocked.] Oh, no, I think not; but we must work 
because we love our work. 

Tom 
We must eat because we love our food. 

Oscar 

You'll know soon. There's to be a meeting here 
this morning. 

[Enter Sara. Tom goes into the other 
room. Sara has the appearance of 
a young business woman and the 
simple direct manner of a woman 
who is ready to work for a thing 
she believes in. 

Sara 
Ed not here yet? 

Oscar 

No. 



THE PEOPLE 39 

Sara 

Did he get any money? 

Oscar 

Doesn't look like it. He was snappish over the 
phone. Guess he's for giving it up this time. 

Sara 

I don't want to give it up. 

[She takes a seat at the table where 
Oscar is writing and unfolds a man- 
uscript she has brought with her. 

Oscar 

Well, it's not what we want, it's what people want, 
and there aren't enough of them who want us. 

Sara 

The fault must lie with us. 

Oscar 

I dont think so. The fault lies with the failure to — 

[The Artist has entered. 

Artist 

I'll tell you where the fault lies. We should give 
more space to pictures and less to stupid reading 
matter. 

Oscar 

We have given too much expensive white paper to 
pictures and too little to reading matter — especially 
to poetry. That's where the fault lies. 

[Enter Edward Wills, editor. 



40 THE PEOPLE 

Ed 

I'll tell you where the fault lies. [Points -first to 
The Artist, then to Oscar.] Here! Just this! 
Everybody plugging for his own thing. Nobody car- 
ing enough about the thing as a whole. 

Oscar 

[Rising.] I'll tell you where the fault lies. [Points 
to Ed.] Here! This. The Editor-in-chief return- 
ing from a long trip and the first golden words that 
fall from his lips words of censure for his faithful 
subordinates. 

Sara 
How are you Ed ? 

Ed 

Rotten. I hate sleeping cars. I always catch cold. 

Sara 
Any luck? 

Ed 

[His hand around his ear.] What's the word? 

[Enter The Earnest Approach. 

Earnest Approach 
I have heard that you may have to discontinue. 

Ed 

[Sitting down at his desk, beginning to look through 
his mail.] It seems we might as well. 

Earnest Approach 
Now just let me tell you what the trouble has been 



THE PEOPLE 41 

and how you can remedy it. The People has been 
afraid of being serious. But you deal with ideas, 
and you must do it soberly. There is a place for a 
good earnest journal of protest, but all this levity — 
this fooling — 

[Enter The Light Touch. 

Light Touch 

Came in to see you, Ed, to say I hope the news I'm 
hearing isn't true. 

Ed 
If it's bad, it's true. 

Light Touch 

Well, it's an awful pity, but you've been too damn 
serious. A lighter touch — that's what The People 
needs. You're as heavy as mud. Try it awhile longer 
along frivolous lines. I was in the building and just 
ran in to let you have my idea of what's the matter 
with you. 

Oscar 

If we had as many subscribers as we have people 
to tell us what's the matter with us — 

[Enter Philosopher and Firebrand, 
Tom follows them in, a page of man- 
uscript in his hand. 

Ed 

Now the Philosopher and the Firebrand will tell 
us what's the matter with us. 

Firebrand 
Too damn bourgeois! You should print on the 



42 THE PEOPLE 

cover of every issue — " To hell with the bourgeoisie ! " 
Pigs ! 

Philosopher 

The trouble with this paper is efficiency. 

[This is too much for all of them. The 
Printer falls back against the wall, 
then staggers from the room. 

Ed 

Dear God! There are things it seems to me I can 
not bear. 

Philosopher 

It should be more carelessly done, and then it would 
be more perfectly done. You should be less definite, 
and you would have more definiteness. You should 
not know what it is you want, and then you would 
find what you are after. 

Oscar 

You talk as if we had not been a success. But just 
last night I heard of a woman in Bronxville who keeps 
The People under her bed so her husband won't know 
she's reading it. 

Firebrand 

If you had been a success you would have fired 
that woman with so great a courage that she would 
proudly prop The People on the pillow ! 

Artist 

[Who is sketching The Firebrand.] It was my 
pictures got us under the bed. 



THE PEOPLE 43 

Oscar 

[Haughtily.] I was definitely told it was my last 
" Talk with God " put us under the bed. 

Firebrand 

Can you not see that she puts you under the bed 
because you yourselves have made concessions to the 
bourgeoisie ? Cows ! Geese ! 

Artist 
It must be more frivolous ! 

Oscar 

It must print more poetry. 

[ They glare at one another. 

Earnest Approach 

It should be more serious. 

Light Touch 

It must be more frivolous ! 

[Enter The Boy from Georgia — 
dressed like a freshman with a good 
allowance. 

The Boy 
Is this the office of The People? 

Oscar 
No, this is a lunatic asylum. 

The Boy 
[After a bewildered moment.] Oh, you're joking. 



44 THE PEOPLE 

You know [Confidentially], I wondered about that — 
whether you would joke here. I thought you would. 
[Stepping forward.] I came to see the Editor— I 
want to tell him — 

Ed 

So many people are telling me so many things, 
could you tell yours a little later ? 

The Boy 

Oh, yes. Of course there must be many important 
things people have to tell you. 

Ed 
Well — many. 

[The Boy goes out — reluctantly. 

Artist 

[Who has all the time been glaring at Oscar.] 
Speaking for the artists, I want to say right now — 

Oscar 

Speaking for the writers, I wish to say before we 
go further — 

Earnest Approach 

A more serious approach — 

Light Touch 

A lighter touch — 

Firebrand 

Speaking for myself — 



THE PEOPLE 45 

Philosopher 

Speaking for the truth — 

[Phone rings, Oscar answers. Enter 
The Man from the Cape — slow, 
heavy. 

Ed 
You have come to tell us something about this paper ? 

The Man 
Yes. 

Ed 

There are a number ahead of you. Will you wait 
your turn? [A look of disappointment.] I'll be glad 
to see you as soon as I can. There in the outside 
office? 

[A moment The Man stands there, a 
mute ponderous figure, then very 
slowly goes out. 

Oscar 

[Hanging up receiver.] Moritz Paper Company. 
Bill got to be paid today. And here — 

[Takes from his drawer a huge packet 
of bills. 

Earnest Approach 

You could pay your bills if you were not afraid to 
be serious ! 

Light Touch 

You could pay your bills if you were not afraid 
to be gay! 



46 THE PEOPLE 

Earnest Approach 

[From the door, solemnly.] A more earnest ap- 
proach would save The People. 

Light Touch 

A lighter touch would turn the trick ! 

[With that they leave. 

Firebrand 

[Going over and pounding on The Editor's desk.] 
To hell with the bourgeoisie! Apes! 

Philosopher 

Efficiency has put out the spark. 

Ed 

Well, as long as the spark appears to be good and 
out, may I, in the name of efficiency, ask you who do 
not belong here to retire, that we may go ahead with 
our work? 

Philosopher 

There would be greater efficiency in our remaining. 
There would be form. You have lacked form. 

Firebrand 
You have lacked courage ! Donkeys ! 

Ed 

It would be illuminating, Leo, to hear you run 
through the animal kingdom — 'toads, crocodiles, a 
number of things you haven't mentioned yet, but the 
animal kingdom is large — and we have work to do. 



THE PEOPLE 47 

Philosopher 

You lack form in your work. By form I do not 
mean what you think I mean. I mean that particular 
significance of the insignificant which is the funda- 
mental — 

Ed 

We couldn't understand it. Why tell us? 
Philosopher 

No. You couldn't understand it. 

[He leaves them to their fate. 

Firebrand 

Rest in peace. [Gesture of benediction. Then hiss- 
ingly.] Centipedes! 

[He goes — leaving a laugh behind him. 

Ed 

What's the matter with us is our friends. 

Sara 

[Quietly.] Well, to be or not to be. I guess it's 
up to you, Ed. 

Ed 

Just what would we be going on for? To make 
a few more people like the dear ones who have just 
left us? Seems to me we could best serve society by 
not doing that. Precisely what do we do? — aside 
from getting under the bed in Bronxville. Now and 
then something particularly rotten is put over and we 
have a story that gets a rise out of a few people, but — 
we don't change anything. 



48 THE PEOPLE 

Sara 

We had another hope. We were going to express 
ourselves so simply and so truly that we would be 
expressing the people. 

Ed 

[Wearily. ,] The People. I looked at them all the 
way across this continent. Oh, I got so tired looking 
at them — on farms, in towns, in cities. They're like 
toys that you wind up and they'll run awhile. They 
don't want to be expressed. It would topple them 
over. The longer I looked the more ridiculous it 
seemed to me that we should be giving our lives to — 
[Picks up the magazine and reads.] The People — 
" A Journal of the Social Revolution." Certainly we'd 
better cut the sub-title. The social revolution is dead. 

Oscar 

You don't think you are bringing back any news, 
do you, Ed? 

Artist 

[Taking up magazine.] Instead of a sub-title we 
could have a design. Much better. 

[Glares at Oscar, then begins to draw. 

Sara 

This is a long way from what you felt a year ago, 
Ed. You had vision then. 

Ed 

You can't keep vision in this office. It's easy enough 
to have a beautiful feeling about the human race 



THE PEOPLE 49 

when none of it is around. The trouble about doing 
anything for your fellow-man is that you have to do 
it with a few of them. Oh, of course that isn't fair. 
We care. I'll say that for us. Even Oscar cares, 
or he wouldn't work the way he has. But what does 
our caring come to? It doesn't connect up with any- 
thing, and God knows it doesn't seem to be making 
anything very beautiful of us. There's something 
rather pathetic about us. 



Oscar 
Or is it merely ridiculous ? 

Sara 

Let me read you something, Ed. [She takes The 
People and reads very simply.] " We are living now. 
We shall not be living long. No one can tell us we 
shall live again. This is our little while. This is 
our chance. And we take it like a child who comes 
from a dark room to which he must return — comes 
for one sunny afternoon to a lovely hillside, and find- 
ing a hole, crawls in there till after the sun is set. I 
want that child to know the sun is shining upon flowers 
in the grass. I want him to know it before he has 
to go back to the room that is dark. I wish I had 
pipes to call him to the hilltop of beautiful distances. 
I myself could see farther if he were seeing at all. 
Perhaps I can tell you: you who have dreamed and 
dreaming know, and knowing care. Move! Move 
from the things that hold you. If you move, others 
will move. Come ! Now. Before the sun goes 
down." [Very quietly.] You wrote that, Ed. 



50 THE PEOPLE 

Ed 

Yes, I wrote it; and do you want to know why I 
wrote it? I wrote it because I was sore at Oscar 
and wanted to write something to make him feel 
ashamed of himself. 

[While Sara is reading, The Woman 
has appeared at the door, has moved 
a few steps into the room as if 
drawn by the words she is hearing. 
Behind her are seen The Boy from 
Georgia, The Man from the Cape. 

The Woman 

[Moving forward.] I don't believe that's true! 
I don't believe that's true! Maybe you think that's 
why you wrote it, but it's not the reason. You wrote 
it because it's the living truth, and it moved in you 
and you had to say it. 

Ed 
[Rising.] Who are you? 

The Woman 

I am one of the people. I have lived a long way 
off. I heard that call and — I had to come. 

The Boy 

[Blithely.] I've come too. I'm from Georgia. I 
read it, and I didn't want to stay at school any longer. 
I said, " I want something different and bigger — 
something more like this." I heard about your not 
being able to sell your paper on the newsstands just 
because lots of people don't want anything different 



THE PEOPLE 51 

and bigger, and I said to myself, " I'll sell the paper ! 
I'll go and sell it on the streets ! " And I got so 
excited about it that I didn't even wait for the dance. 
There was a dance that night, and I had my girl too. 

The Woman 
He didn't even wait for the dance. 

Oscar 

The idealists are calling upon the intellectuals, and 
" calling " them. 

Ed 

[To The Man.] And what did you leave, my 
friend ? 

The Man 

[Heavily.] My oyster bed. I'm from the Cape. I 
had a chance to go in on an oyster bed. I read what 
you wrote — a woman who had stopped in an automo- 
bile left it, and I said to myself, " I'm nothing but an 
oyster myself. Guess I'll come to life." 

Ed 
But — what did you come here for? 

The Man 
Well — for the rest of it. 

Ed 
The rest of what? 

The Man 

The rest of what you've got. 



52 THE PEOPLE 

The Boy 
Yes — that's it; we've come for the rest of what 
you've got. 

Oscar 
This is awkward for Ed. 

The Woman 
Give it to us. 

Ed 
What? 

The Woman 
The rest of it. 

Ed 

[An instant's pause.] I haven't got anything more 
to give. 

The Boy 

But you made us think you had. You led us to 
believe you had. 

The Woman 

And you have. If you hadn't more to give, you 
couldn't have given that. 

Oscar 
Very awkward. 

The Woman 

You said — " I call to you. You who have dreamed, 
and dreaming know, and knowing care." Well, three 
of us are here. From the South and the East and 
the West we've come because you made us want some- 
thing we didn't have, made us want it so much we 



THE PEOPLE 53 

had to move the way we thought was toward it — 
before the sun goes down. 

The Boy 

We thought people here had life — something dif- 
ferent and bigger. 

Oscar 

Perhaps we'd better go. Poor Ed. 

Ed 

I wish you'd shut up, Oscar. 

The Woman 

I know you will give it to us. 

Ed 
Give what to you ? 

The Woman 

What you have for the people. [Oscar coughs.] 
What you made us know we need. 

Oscar 

You shouldn't have called personally. You should 
have sent in your needs by mail. 

Ed 
Oscar, try and act as if you had a soul. 

The Woman 

I think he really has. [A look at Oscar — then, 
warmly.] At least he has a heart. It's only that he 



54 THE PEOPLE 

feels he must be witty. But you — you're not going 
to let us just go away again, are you? He gave up 
his oyster bed, and this boy didn't even wait for the 
dance, and me — I gave up my tombstone. 

Ed 
Your — ? 

The Woman 

Yes — tombstone. It had always been a saying in 
our family — " He won't even have a stone to mark 
his grave." They said it so much that I thought it 
meant something. I sew — plain sewing, but I've 
often said to myself — " Well, at least I'll have a stone 
to mark my grave." And then, there was a man who 
had been making speeches to the miners — I live in a 
town in Idaho — and he had your magazine, and he 
left it in the store, and the storekeeper said to me, 
when I went there for thread — " Here, you like to 
read. Don't you want this? I wish you'd take it 
away, because if some folks in this town see it, they'll 
think I'm not all I should be." He meant the cover. 

Artist 
[Brightening.] That was my cover. 

The Woman 

[After a smile at The Artist.] So I took it home, 
and when my work was done that night, I read your 
wonderful words. They're like a spring — if you've 
lived in a dry country, you'll know what I mean. And 
they made me know that my tombstone was as dead 
as — well, [With a little laugh] as dead as a tomb- 
stone. So I had to have something to take its place. 



THE PEOPLE 55 

Sara 

[Rising and going to The Woman.] Talk to him. 
Tell him about it. Come, Oscar! 

The Boy 

As long as there seems to be so much uncertainty 
about this, perhaps I'd better telegraph father. You 
see, the folks don't know where I am. I just came. 

The Woman 

He didn't even stay for the dance. 

The Boy 

I'll be glad to sell the papers. [Seeing a pile of 
them on the table.] Here, shall I take these? — and 
I'll stop people on the street and tell why I'm selling 
them. 

Oscar 

No, you can't do that. You'd be arrested. 

The Woman 

Let him sell them. What's the difference about 
the law, if you have the right idea? 

Oscar 

The right idea has given us trouble enough already. 

The Man 

There's something sure about an oyster bed. 

Oscar 

You come with me and have a drink. Something 
sure about that too. 



56 THE PEOPLE 

The Woman 

He could have had a drink at home. 

Sara 

[To Artist.] Coming, Joe? [To The Boy.] It 
was corking of you to want to help us. We must talk 
about — 

[All go out except The Woman and 
The Editor. A Pause. 

The Woman 

I am sorry for you. 

Ed 
Why? 

The Woman 

[Feeling her way and sadly.] Because you have 
the brain to say those things, and not the spirit to 
believe them. I couldn't say them, and yet I've got 
something you haven't got. [With more sureness.] 
Because I know the thing you said was true. 

Ed 
Will you sit down? 

The Woman 

No — I'll go. [Stands there uncertainly.] I don't 
know why I should be disappointed. I suppose it's 
not fair to ask you to be as big as the truth you saw. 
Why should I expect you would be ? 

Ed 

I'm sorry. I suppose now you'll regret your tomb- 
stone. 



THE PEOPLE 57 

The Woman 

No — it was wonderful to ride across this country 
and see all the people. The train moving along seemed 
to make something move in me. I had thoughts not 
like any thoughts I'd ever had before — your words 
like a spring breaking through the dry country of 
my mind. I thought of how you call your paper " A 
Journal of The Social Revolution," and I said to my- 
self — This is the Social Revolution! Knowing that 
your tombstone doesn't matter! Seeing — that's the 
Social Revolution. 

Ed 
Seeing — ? 

The Woman 

[As if it is passing before her.] A plain, dark 
trees off at the edge, against the trees a little house 
and a big barn. A flat piece of land fenced in. Stub- 
ble, furrows. Horses waiting to get in at the barn; 
cows standing around a pump. A tile yard, a water 
tank, one straight street of a little town. The country 
so still it seems dead. The trees like — hopes that 
have been given up. The grave yards — on hills — 
they come so fast. I noticed them first because of 
my tombstone, but I got to thinking about the people 
— the people who spent their whole lives right near 
the places where they are now. There's something 
in the thought of them — like the cows standing around 
the pump. So still, so patient, it — kind of hurts. 
And their pleasures : — a flat field fenced in. Your 
great words carried me to other great words. I 
thought of Lincoln, and what he said of a few of the 
dead. I said it over and over. I said things and 



58 THE PEOPLE 

didn't know the meaning of them 'till after I had said 
them. I said — " The truth — the truth — the truth 
that opens from our lives as water opens from the 
rocks." Then I knew what that truth was. [Pause, 
with an intensity peculiarly simple.] " Let us here 
highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in 
vain." I mean — all of them. [A gesture, wide, lov- 
ing.] Let life become what it may become ! — so beau- 
tiful that everything that is back of us is worth every- 
thing it cost. 

[Enter Tom. 

Tom 

I've got — [Feeling something unusual.] Sorry to 
butt in, but I can still get that job on The Evening 
World. If this paper is going to stop, I've got to know 
it. 

Ed 
Stop ! This paper can't stop ! 

Tom 

Can't stop! Last I heard, it couldn't do anything 
else. 

Ed 
That was — long ago. 

Tom 
Oh — you've got something to go on with? 

Ed 
Yes, something to go on with. 



THE PEOPLE 59 

Tom 

I see. [Looks at woman, as if he doesn't see, glances 
at her suit-case.] I'm glad. But — I've got to be 
sure. This — is the truth? 

Ed 

The truth. The truth that opens from our lives as 
water opens from the rocks. 

[Tom backs up. 

The Woman 

[Turning a shining face to The Printer.] No- 
body really needs a tombstone ! 

(Curtain) 



CLOSE THE BOOK 

A COMEDY IN ONE ACT 



First Performed by the Provincetown Players, 
New York, Nov. 2, 19 17 

ORIGINAL CAST 

Jhansi Edith Unger 

Peyton Root, an Instructor in the University 

James Light 

Mrs. Root, Peyton's Mother . . Susan Glaspell 
Mrs. Peyton, His Grandmother . Clara Savage 
Uncle George Peyton, President of the Board of 

Regents Justus Sheffield 

Bessie Root Alice MacDougal 

State Senator Byrd David Carb 

Mrs. State Senator Byrd . . . Esther Pinch 



CLOSE THE BOOK 

Scene : The library in the Root home, the library 
of middle-western people who are an important family 
in their community, a university town, and who think 
of themselves as people of culture. It is a room which 
shows pride of family: on the rear wall are tzvo large 
family portraits — one a Revolutionary soldier, the 
other a man of a later period. On the low book-cases, 
to both sides of door rear, and on the mantel, right, 
are miniatures and other old pictures. There is old, 
furniture — mahogany recently done over: an easy 
chair near the -fireplace, a divan left. A Winged Vic- 
tory presides over one of the book-cases, a Burne 
Jones is hung.. It is a warmly lighted, cheerful room 
— books and flowers about. At the rear is a door 
opening on the hall, at the left a door into another 
room. There is a corner window at the right. 
Jhansi and Peyton are seated on the divan. Mrs. 
Root is just going into the hall. She seems perturbed. 
Jhansi is dressed as a non-conformist, but attractively. 
Peyton is a rather helpless young man, with a sense 
of humor that is itself rather helpless. 

Mrs. Root 

I'll see, Peyton, if your grandmother isn't ready 
to come down. 

[She leaves them. 

Jhansi 

[Springing up.] It's absurd that I should be here! 
63 



64 CLOSE THE BOOK 

Peyton 

I know, Jhansi, but just this once — as long as it 
means so much to mother, and doesn't really hurt us. 

Jhansi 

But it does hurt me, Peyton. These walls stifle 
me. You come of people who have been walled in all 
their lives. It doesn't cage you. But me — I am a 
gypsy ! Sometimes I feel them right behind me — all 
those wanderers, people who were never caught; feel 
them behind me pushing me away from all this ! 

Peyton 

But not pushing you away from me, dear. You 
love me, Jhansi, in spite of my family? 

Jhansi 

If I didn't love you do you think I could endure 
to come to this dreadful place? [A look about the 
comfortable room] — and meet these dreadful people? 
Forgive me for alluding to your home and family, 
Peyton, but I must not lose my honesty, you know. 

* Peyton 

No, dear; I don't think you are losing it. And 
perhaps I'd better not lose mine either. There's one 
thing I haven't mentioned yet. [Hesitates.] Mr. 
Peyton is coming to dinner tonight. 

Jhansi 
Mr. Peyton. What Peyton? 



CLOSE THE BOOK 65 

Peyton 
Yes — that one. 

Jhansi 

And you ask me — standing for the things I do 
in this university — to sit down to dinner with the 
president of the board of regents ! 

Peyton 
Mother'd asked him before I knew it. 

Jhansi 
[With scorn.] Your uncle! 

Peyton 

He's not my uncle — he's mother's. And you see 
it's partly on account of grandmother just getting 
back from California. He's grandmother's brother- 
in-law, you know. I suppose she doesn't realize what 
it means to have to sit down to dinner with him — 
she's done it so much. And then mother thought 
it would be nice for you to meet him. 

Jhansi 
Nice! 

Peyton 

He's pleasant at dinner. 

Jhansi 
Pleasant ! 

Peyton 

Mother's a little worried about my position in the 
university. 



66 CLOSE THE BOOK 

Jhansi 

It would be wonderful for you to lose your position 
in the university. 

Peyton 
Yes — wonderful. 

Jhansi 

And then you and I could walk forth free ! 

Peyton 
Free — but broke. 

Jhansi 

Peyton, you disappoint me. Just the fact that that 
man is coming to dinner changes you. 

Peyton 

Oh, no. But you are fortunately situated, Jhansi, 
having no people. It's easier to be free when there's 
nobody who minds. 

Jhansi 
I am going! 

Peyton 

Oh come now, dearest, you can't go when you're 
expected for dinner. Nobody's that free. 

Jhansi 

Dinner! A dinner to celebrate our engagement! 
It's humiliating, Peyton. I should take you by the 
hand and you and I should walk together down the 
open road. 



CLOSE THE BOOK 67 

Peyton 
We will, Jhansi ; we will — in time. 

Jhansi 
We should go now. 

Peyton 
Think so? Mother's going to have turkey. 

Jhansi 
Better a dinner of berries and nuts — ! 

Peyton 
We'll have berries — cranberries, and nuts, too. 

Jhansi 
Where is my coat? 

Peyton 

[Seising her and kissing her.] Some day, serene 
and unhampered, we'll take to the open road — a road 
with berries and nuts. 

[Grandmother Peyton and Mrs. Root 
are at the door. 

Mrs. Root 

Mother, this is Peyton's friend Miss Mason. One 
of our important students. 

Grandmother 

[In her brittle way.] Yes? I never was a very 
important student myself. I didn't like to study. Be- 
cause my family were professors, I suppose. 



68 CLOSE THE BOOK 

Mrs. Root 

Peyton's grandmother is a descendant of Gustave 
Phelps — one of the famous teachers of pioneer days. 

Jhansi 

[Her head going up.] I am a descendant of people 
who never taught anybody anything I 

Peyton 

Jhansi and I were just going to finish an article 
on Free Speech which must get to the Torch this 
evening. 

Grandmother 

[Moving toward the big chair near the iire.] Free 
Speech? How amusing. 

Peyton 

You may be less amused some day, grandmother. 
[Jhansi and Peyton go into the other 
room. 

Grandmother 

That may be a free speech. I wouldn't call it a 
pleasant one. 

Mrs. Root 

[Sinking to the divan.] Oh, he was speaking of 
the open road again — berries and nuts — 1 

Grandmother 
[Beginning to knit.] Berries and nuts? Well, it 



CLOSE THE BOOK 69 

sounds quite innocuous to me. Some of our young 
people are less simple in their tastes. 

Mrs. Root 

[In great distress.] Mother, how would you like 
to see your grandson become a gypsy ? 

Grandmother 

Peyton a gypsy ? You mean in a carnival ? 

Mrs. Root 

No, not in a carnival ! In life. 

Grandmother 
But he isn't dark enough. 

Mrs. Root 

And is that the only thing against it ! I had thought 
you would be a help to me, mother. 

Grandmother 

Well, my dear Clara, I have no doubt I will be a 
help to you — in time. This idea of Peyton becoming 
a gypsy is too startling for me to be a help instantly. 
In the first place, could he be ? You can't be anything 
you take it into your head to be — even if it is un- 
desirable. And then, why should he be ? Doesn't he 
still teach English right here in the university? 

Mrs. Root 

I don't know how much longer he'll teach it. He 
said the other day that American literature was a 
toddy with the stick left out. Saying that of the very 



70 CLOSE THE BOOK 

thing he's paid to teach! It got in the papers and 
was denounced in an editorial on " Untrue Americans." 
Peyton — a descendant of John Peyton of Valley 
Forge! [Indicates the Revolutionary portrait] — de- 
nounced in an article on Untrue Americans ! And in 
one of those awful columns — those silly columns — 
they said maybe the stick hadn't been left out of his 
toddy. But it isn't that. Peyton doesn't drink — to 
speak of. It's this girl. She's the stick. And I tell 
you people don't like it, mother. It's not what we 
pay our professors for. Peyton used to be perfectly 
satisfied with civilization. But now he talks about 
society. Makes light remarks. 

Grandmother 

I should say that was going out of his way to be 
disagreeable. What business has a professor of Eng- 
lish to say anything about society? It's not in his 
department. 

Mrs. Root 

I told Peyton he should be more systematic. 

Grandmother 
How did this gypsy get here? 

Mrs. Root 

She was brought up by a family named Mason. 
But it seems she was a gypsy child, who got lost or 
something, and those Masons took her in. I'm sure 
it was very good of them, and it's too bad they weren't 
able to make her more of a Christian. She is coming 
to have a following in the university! There are 



CLOSE THE BOOK 71 

people who seem to think that because you're outside 
society you have some superior information about it. 

Grandmother 

Well, don't you think you're needlessly disturbed? 
In my day, a young man would be likely enough to 
fall in love with a good-looking gypsy, not very likely 
to marry her. 

Mrs. Root 

Times have changed, mother. They marry them 
now. [Both sigh.] Of course, it's very commendable 
of them. 

Grandmother 

[Grimly.] Oh, quite — commendable. 

Mrs. Root 

I was brought up in university circles. I'm inter- 
ested in ideas. But sometimes I think there are too 
many ideas. 

Grandmother 

An embarrassment of riches. So you have set out 
to civilize the young woman? 

Mrs. Root 

I'd rather have her sit at my table than have my 
son leave some morning in a covered wagon ! 

Grandmother 

I wonder how it is about gypsies. About the chil- 
dren. I wonder if it's as it is with the negroes. 

Mrs. Root 
Mother! 



72 CLOSE THE BOOK 

Grandmother 

It would be startling, wouldn't it ? — if one of them 
should turn out to be a real gypsy and take to this 
open road. 

Mrs. Root 

[Covering her face.] Oh! 

Grandmother 
Quite likely they'd do it by motor. 

Mrs. Root 

[Rising.] Mother! — how can you say such dread- 
ful things — and just when I have this trying dinner. 
Oh, I wish Bessie would come ! [ Goes to the win- 
dow.] She is a comfort to me. 

Grandmother 
Where is Bessie? 

Mrs. Root 

She's away in the motor. [Again shudders.] 
Bessie feels dreadfully about her brother. She is try- 
ing to do something. She said it would be a surprise 
— a happy surprise. [Someone heard in the hall.] 
Perhaps this is Bessie. [Enter Mr. Peyton.] Oh, 
it's Uncle George. 

Uncle George 

Early I know. Came to have a little visit with 
Elizabeth. [Goes to Grandmother and shakes 
hands.] How are you, young woman? 



CLOSE THE BOOK 73 

Grandmother 

My nerves seem to be stronger than the nerves I see 
around me. And how are you, George? 



Oh, I'm well 
But—? 

Responsibilities. 
The bank? 



Uncle George 
Grandmother 
Uncle George 
Grandmother 
Uncle George 



I'd rather run ten banks than a tenth of a university. 
You can control money. 

Mrs. Root 

I'm sorry, Uncle George, that Peyton should be 
adding to your worries. 

Uncle George 
What's the matter with Peyton? 

Grandmother 
Wild oats. 

Uncle George 

Well, I wish he'd sow them in less intellectual fields. 

Mrs. Root 

I am prepared to speak freely with you, Uncle 
George. The matter with Peyton is this girl. Well, 
they're going to be married. Yes [Answering his 



74 CLOSE THE BOOK 

gesture of protest] and I think it's a good thing. She 
won't be in a position to say so much about freedom 
after she is married. 

Uncle George 
But they say she's a gypsy. 

Mrs. Root 

She won't be a gypsy after she's Peyton's wife. 
She'll be a married woman. 

Uncle George 

Yes, but in the meantime we will have swallowed 
a gypsy. 

Grandmother 

And I was just wondering how it would be about 
the children. 

Mrs. Root 

Mother, please don't be indelicate again. 

[Pause. 
Grandmother 

Well, if there's nothing else we may speak of, let's 
talk about free speech. They're writing a paper on it 
in there. 

Uncle George 

I don't know what this university is coming to ! An 
institution of learning! It isn't that I don't believe 
in free speech. Every true American believes in free 
speech, but — 

[Slight Pause. 
Grandmother 

[With Emphasis.] Certainly. 



CLOSE THE BOOK 75 

Uncle George 
Ask them to come out here with their paper on 
free speech. I'll be glad to give them the benefit of 
my experience. 

Mrs. Root 

Yes, it will be delightful to all be together. 

[She goes to get Peyton and Jhansi. 

Grandmother 

This girl doesn't look to me like one who is thirsting 
for the benefit of another person's experience. 

Uncle George 

She's a bad influence. She's leading our young 
people to criticise the society their fathers have builded 
up. 

Grandmother 

There's a great deal of ingratitude in the world. 

[Mrs. Root returns, followed by the two 
young people. 

Mrs. Root 

I told Uncle George you were eager to bring him 
and Jhansi together. Jhansi, this is Mr. Peyton, who 
looks after the affairs of the university for you stu- 
dents. Of course you've heard about Miss Mason, 
Uncle George, one of our — cleverest students. 

Uncle George 

Yes, we were speaking of Miss Mason's cleverness 
just the other day — in board meeting. 



76 CLOSE THE BOOK 

Jhansi 

And just the other day — at the student assembly — 
we were speaking of how you look after the affairs of 
the university for us. 

Grandmother 

I hope you both spoke affectionately. 

Uncle George 

Well, Peyton, very busy I take it. You're adding 
to your duties, aren't you ? 

Peyton 
Not that I know of. 

Uncle George 

Your grandmother said something about a high 
falutin paper on free speech. 

Peyton 

I suppose that's an inherited tendency. You know 
one of my ancestors signed a paper on free speech. 
It had a high falutin name : " The Declaration of 
Independence " ! 

Mrs. Root 
I wish Bessie would come ! 

Uncle George 
Do you think much about your ancestors, Peyton? 

Peyton 
Not a great deal. 



CLOSE THE BOOK 77 

Uncle George 

Peyton has some rather interesting ancestors, Miss 
Mason. There's Captain John Peyton. That's his 
picture. He helped win one of the battles which made 
this country possible — the country in which you are 
living. And a descendant of John Peyton — Richard 
Peyton [Points out the picture'] gave the money which 
founded this university — the university in which you 
are now acquiring your education. 

Jhansi 

[Lightly.] Perhaps it would be quite as well if this 
university — and this country — never had existed. 

Mrs. Root 
I don't see why Bessie doesn't come ! 

Jhansi 

Of course I look at it as an outsider. I am not a 
part of your society. 

Uncle George 
Peyton is. 

Mrs. Root 
There's Bessie ! 

[Bessie rushes in. 
Bessie 

Grandmother! [Swiftly kissing her.] How won- 
derful to have you with us again! Dear Uncle 
George ! 

Uncle George 

Glad you got here, Bessie. Your mother has been 
looking for you. 



78 ' CLOSE THE BOOK 

Bessie 

[A movement of greeting to Jhansi.] Isn't it beau- 
tiful to all be together? A real family party! And 
now — we have a moment or two before dinner, 
mother ? 

Mrs. Root 

The man who brought the turkey in from the coun- 
try had a runaway, so it was a little late in arriving. 

It 

Bessie 

How fortunate! Oh, it does seem that all things 
work together for the best. Mother, I have had a 
completely successful day! 

Grandmother 
Where've you been, Bessie? 

Bessie 

I've been fifty miles to the north — in Baxter 
County. Does that mean anything to you, Jhansi? 

Jhansi 
Not a thing. 

Bessie 

[Still breathlessly.] Dear uncle, I hope you will 
understand what I am about to v do. It might seem 
unrestrained — not in the best of taste, but it's just 
because you stand for so much in Peyton's life that 
I want you to hear our good news as soon as we hear 
it ourselves. You knew that these two children were 
in love and going to be married. [A bow from Uncle 



CLOSE THE BOOK 79 

George.] You know — Jhansi dear, I may speak 
very freely, may I not? 

Jhansi 
I believe in free speech. 

Bessie 

Yes — how dear of you. Jhansi has endured in 
proud silence a great grief. And now, dear child, 
because of the touching dignity with which you have 
stood outside and alone, it is a moment of special joy- 
fulness to me when I can say — Welcome Within! 

Peyton 
What are you talking about, Bessie? 

Bessie 

You must not stand outside society! You belong 
within the gates. You are one of us! 

Jhansi 
I'm not. 

Bessie 

Dear child you are as respectable as we are. 

Jhansi 
[Rising.] I am not. 

Bessie 

Of course, you can't grasp it in an instant. But I 
have looked it all up, dear. I have the proofs. 

Peyton 
Well it wasn't your affair, Bessie. 



80 CLOSE THE BOOK 

Bessie 

I made it my affair because I love my brother. 
Jhansi dear, [As one who tells tremendous good news] 
your father was Henry Harrison, a milkman in the 
town of Sunny Center — an honorable and respected 
man. Your parents were married in the Baptist 
Church ! 

Jhansi 

I deny it! I deny this charge! 

Bessie , 

[Stepping to the hall] Dear Senator and Mrs. 
Byrd, will you come now? 

[Enter State Senator Byrd and Mrs. 
State Senator Byrd, Mrs. Byrd 
carrying a large book. 

Bessie 

Jhansi dear, you are about to enter upon the hap- 
piest moment of your life, for State Senator Byrd, 
one of our law-making body, is a cousin of your dear 
dead mother. 

Senator Byrd 

Aggie's little girl! 

[He goes to Jhansi with outstretched 
hands. But Aggie's little girl stands 
like a rock. 

Bessie 

And here, Jhansi, is your cousin Mrs. Byrd, who 
has come all this way to assure you you have a family. 



CLOSE THE BOOK 81 

Mrs. Byrd 

Indeed you have ! There's Ella Andrews, one of 
our teachers — a lovely girl. She's your first cousin. 
We are second cousins. You may have some little 
family pride in knowing that I was last spring elected 
President of the Federated Clubs of Baxter County. 
Just last Week I entertained the officers of all the 
clubs at our home — our new home, erected last year 
after your cousin Ephraim completed his first term 
in the upper house of the State Legislature. Your 
cousin Ephraim has been re-elected. He is on the 
Ways and Means Committee. 

Uncle George 

[Approaching Senator Byrd.] I have heard of 
Senator Ephraim Byrd of the Ways and Means Com- 
mittee. That was good work you fellows — 

[They talk of this. 

Mrs. Root 

And to think, Jhansi, that your cousin Mrs. Byrd 
is a prominent clubwoman! 

Grandmother 
[After a look at Jhansi.] Her cup runneth over. 

Mrs. Root 

Isn't Bessie wonderful, mother? How did you find 
it all out, Bessie ? 

Bessie 

From clue to clue I worked my way to Sunny Cen- 
ter. I would say to myself — Do this for Peyton; 



82 CLOSE THE BOOK 

do this for Jhansi. And so, I heard of an old min- 
ister who had been there years and years. I went to 
him and — he had married Jhansi's father and mother ! 
Dearest child, your mother taught in his Sunday- 
School ! 

Senator Byrd 

Oh, yes, Aggie loved the Baptist Sunday-School! 

Jhansi 

It's very strange that my mother — I am referring 
to Mrs. Mason — never told me of this ! 

Bessie 

But she never told you you were a gypsy, either, 
did she? No; she just wanted you to think you were 
their own child. And then I suppose you heard some 
foolish tale at school. 

Mrs. Byrd 

You see Jhansi's mother and father — her real ones 
— died of typhoid fever before she was two years old. 
They got it from the cows. Well, the Harrisons were 
friends of the Mason's — they all worked together in 
the church — and so they took Jhansi, and soon after 
that they moved away and we lost track of them. You 
know what a busy world it is — particularly for people 
who have duties in their community. 

Jhansi 

I haven't accepted this story! You can't prove it! 
[Mrs. Byrd impressively hands her hus- 
band the book. 



CLOSE THE BOOK 83 

Senator Byrd 
" Iowa descendants of New England families." 

Mrs. Root 

Oh, yes ; that is one of the books in which our family 
is written up! [To Peyton.] My dearest boy, from 
my heart I congratulate you! 

Senator Byrd 

Pages fifty-seven to sixty-one — inclusive, are de- 
voted, Jhansi, to our family. 

Mrs. Byrd 

My own family appears on page 113. 

[Senator Byrd holds the book out to 
Jhansi, who once more stands like 
a rock. Uncle George steps for- 
ward to look at the book. 

Uncle George 
Oh, you are a descendant of Peter Byrd. 

Senator Byrd 

One of those dare-devils whose leg was shot under 
him at Bull Run. 

Bessie 
You heard that, Jhansi? 

Mrs. Root 

A descendant of Peter Byrd ! — whose leg was shot 
under him — 



84 CLOSE THE BOOK 

Jhansi 

So this is what I was brought here for, is it? To 
have my character torn down < — to ruin my reputation 
and threaten my integrity by seeking to muzzle me 
with a leg at Bull Run and set me down in the Baptist 
Sunday-School in a milk-wagon! I see the purpose 
of it all. I understand the hostile motive behind all 
this — but I tell you it's a lie. Something here [Hand 
on heart] tells me I am not respectable! 

Uncle George 
- Reaction. 

Jhansi 

I am Jhansi — Jhansi — a child of the gypsies! I 
am a wanderer ! I am an outlaw ! 

Mrs. Byrd 

Yes, you are Jhansi. And did you ever stop to 
think how you came by that outlandish name? 

Jhansi 
It has always assured me of my birthright. 

Mrs. Byrd 

Well, you'd better look in your geography. You 
were named after a town in India where your mother's 
missionary circle was helping to support a missionary. 

Senator Byrd 
Aggie was crazy about the missionaries. 



CLOSE THE BOOK 85 

Jhansi 

[Falling back, breaking.] Peyton, I release you 
from our engagement. 

Peyton 

No. N-o; don't do that. [Stoutly.] I love you 
for yourself alone — in spite of anything that may be 
true. But I must say Bessie — ! 

Jhansi 

[Beginning to sob.] I can't bear it. I can't bear 
it! And to think that Peyton's mother was an ille- 
gitimate child. 

Mrs. Root 

[Dazed.] What's that? 

Grandmother 
[Rising.] Yes; what is that? 

Mrs. Root 
Am I to understand — ? 

Grandmother 

Am I to be told — at my age — that I gave birth 
to an illegitimate child? This is a surprise to me 
— and not a pleasant one ! 

Peyton 

[To Jhansi.] It would have been better not to 
have mentioned that. 



86 CLOSE THE BOOK 

Uncle George 

This is reaction. I think perhaps we need a physi- 
cian. 

Jhansi 

I don't need a physician. Peyton certainly told me 
that his mother was an illegitimate child. Of course, 
Peyton, if you were just boasting about your family 
— say so. 

Uncle George 

What have you to say, Peyton? 

Grandmother 

Before he says anything, Bessie, you bring me that 
portfolio from the lower right-hand corner of my 
desk. Key in the upper left hand pigeon hole. 

[Bessie goes. 
Mrs. Root 
Peyton ! 

Peyton 

Why I didn't mean any harm, mother. I certainly 
didn't mean anything against you, or grandmother. 
Quite the contrary. I was just anxious that Jhansi 
should have a little respect for our family. It didn't 
seem to have a leg to stand on. 

Jhansi 
So you made it up — out of whole cloth ? 

Peyton 
No, not out of whole cloth. 



CLOSE THE BOOK 87 

Grandmother 

Out of what cloth, then? Kindly tell me, out of 
what cloth? 

Mrs. Root 

Peyton is not himself. 

Peyton 

Well, it just came into my head that it was possible. 
You see, grandmother, your having moved — I do wish 
you could see that I meant nothing against your char- 
acter. Absolutely the contrary. But your having 
moved — 

Grandmother 

My having moved where? 

Peyton 

Your having moved from New York State to Ohio 
at just that time — 

Grandmother 

I always did like to travel. Is that anything against 
a person's character? 

Peyton 
I was claiming that you had character. 

Grandmother 

I'll stick to my own, thank you. I've had it quite 
a while and am used to it. But I'd like to know right 
now what there is so immoral in moving from one 
state to another — even if you are going to have a 
baby? 



88 CLOSE THE BOOK 

Jhansi 

[Raising her head.] There is nothing immoral in 
anything. 

Grandmother 

Fiddlesticks. [Bessie hands her the folio.] You 
found it, Bessie? The key? Here, Peyton; come 
here. [Opens portfolio, takes out a rolled paper.] 
Happily preserved for this defense of my character 
in my old age, is my wedding certificate. 

Mrs. Byrd 
This is painful. 

[With ostentatious tact she turns and 
looks at a print on the rear wall; 
motions Senator Byrd to join her. 

Grandmother 

I want you to look at the date — right there beside 
that pink cupid ■ — cherub, perhaps it is — anyway, read 
aloud the figures you see. 

Peyton 
[Sullenly.] 1869. 

Grandmother 

And here, in this other document, very fortunately 
at hand to meet the attacks of my only grandson upon 
my integrity, what do you read there? 

Peyton 
Clara — aged six weeks. 

Grandmother 
And the date? 



CLOSE THE BOOK 89 

[Mrs. Root, Bessie, Uncle George, all 
listen a little anxiously. 

Peyton 
December, 1871. 

[A sigh of relief. 

Grandmother 

I trust now, Peyton, you will admit that a woman 
may move from one state to another without being 
dissolute. 

[At this word Mrs. Root is unable to 
bear more and hides her face in her 
handkerchief. 

Uncle George 

[As one saving the situation.'] Genealogy is inter- 
esting. One is democratic, of course, but when there 
is behind one what there is behind us, Senator, it 
enhances one's powers — responsibility — obligation. 
[He has taken up the book and been running through 
the pages.] Descendants of John Peyton. Here, 
Peyton, are some things about your ancestors. Read 
them. Perhaps then instead of tearing down you will 
have an impulse to build up. I commend this book 
to you young people for study. It will do you no 
harm to think a little of those worthy men from whom 
you come. 

[Marks the place with a card and gives 
the book to Peyton. 

Jhansi 

[Springing up.] I shall waste no time thinking of 
the worthy men from whom I come ! If I am related 



90 CLOSE THE BOOK 

to a law-maker — I owe it to my soul to become a 
law-breaker ! 

Mrs. Root 

You see, Bessie, what you have done. 

Jhansi 

When I thought there was in me no taint of civil- 
ization, I could put up with your silly conventions, 
but if in a material sense I am part of your society, 
then I have a spiritual obligation to fulfil in leaving 
it ! Peyton, respectability threatens to wall us in and 
stifle us. Are you ready to walk from this house 
with me tonight, entering upon a free union that says 
that — [A snap of the finger] for law ? 

Peyton 
Why — certainly. 

Mrs. Byrd 

Well, if it comes to a matter of not caring to claim 
relationship, we certainly hesitated some time. Those 
Harrisons were not all they should be. 

Jhansi 
[A note of hope in her voice.] No? 

Mrs. Byrd 

I said to Senator Byrd, now that the girl is marry- 
ing into one of the best families in the state — not that 
that influenced us especially, but I said, if she is try- 
ing to make something of herself, we must stand by 
her, and we will mention only pleasant things. We 
will not allude to what her grandfather did ! 



CLOSE THE BOOK 91 

Jhansi 
What did he do? 

Senator Byrd 

He burned down his neighbor's house because that 
neighbor chased home his pigs. 

Jhansi 
Really? Yes ! — my grandfather would do that ! 

Peyton 

Were any of the family found in the charred re- 
mains ? 

Senator Byrd 

The family, I believe, escaped. 

Mrs. Byrd 
But no thanks to old man Harrison. 

Jhansi 

No! — I'm sure grandfather meant them to burn. 
[Seising book.] I wonder if grandfather's protest is 
recorded in this book ! 

Mrs. Byrd 

That book does not emphasize unfortunate occur- 
rences. 

Mrs. Root 

And how right it is! One should think only of 
the good in human nature. 



92 CLOSE THE BOOK 

Peyton 

[Looking -with Jhansi.] What is this fine print at 
the bottom of the page? 

Mrs. Byrd 
[Hastily.] That is not important. 

Senator Byrd 
It is in fine print because it is not important. 

Peyton 

One of the descendants of Peter Byrd. [To 
Jhansi.] The leg at Bull Run, you know. He — 

Mrs. Root 
Peyton, remember that you are in your own house. 

Peyton 

" Unfaithful to the high office of treasurer of the 
Baxter County Cemetery Association." 

Jhansi 

[Gasping, then beaming.] Why — why! — a grave 
robber! Was he a near relative? 

Mrs. Byrd 

I must say, Miss Root, that we did not come here 
to have our family inquired into as far back as ancient 
history ! 

Mrs. Root 

No, Mrs. Byrd, I quite agree with you that it is 
not necessary to go too far back in any family. 



CLOSE THE BOOK 93 

Grandmother 
Neither necessary nor desirable. 

Bessie 
Those early days must have been very trying. 

Peyton 

Jhansi! The fine print of your family is thrilling. 
Here is a man — 

Mrs. Root 

Peyton, stop reading from that tiresome and obso- 
lete book. It is not hospitable. 

Mrs. Byrd 

Turn to your own family history and read a little 
fine print in it ! 

[The other members of the Peyton- 
Root family give each other startled, 
nervous glances. 

Peyton 

Why what a lovely idea. Uncle has marked it for 
us. [After looking.] Fine print in our family? 

Mrs. Byrd 
It's there. 

Bessie 

Genealogy is so confusing. I never could under- 
stand it. 

Mrs. Root 

And I don't see why one should try to understand 
it. Live well in the present — that is sufficient. 



94 CLOSE THE BOOK 

Grandmother 

It looks to me as if that book was not thoughtfully 
edited. I'm surprised it has sold. 

Peyton 

[Snatching book from Jhansi.] Jhansi ! don't want 
to boast! I hope I shall not become a snob. You 
too have a family — and they had their impulsive 
moments — but what was the most largely low-down 
thing a man of early days could do? [Peytons and 
Roots draw together anxiously; the Byrds wait com- 
placently.] As uncle has pointed out, Jhansi, I am 
a descendant of Captain John Peyton. But when you 
have a remote ancestor, you also have his less remote 
descendants — a fact sometimes overlooked. Well, 
Stuart Peyton — 

Bessie 
Mother, I wonder if the turkey isn't ready now? 

Mrs. Root 

It's time for it to be ready. 

[She harries out. 

Peyton 

Stuart Peyton — " convicted of selling whiskey and 
firearms to the Indians." 

[Assumes an overbearing attitude. 

Mrs. Byrd 

I guess the early days were trying, in more than 
one family. 



CLOSE THE BOOK 95 

Peyton 

[Peering into the book.] And what is this? What 
is this? Stuart Peyton was the father of Richard 
Peyton — 

Jhansi 

Who founded this university ! 
Peyton 

[In the voice of Uncle George.] The university 
in which you are now acquiring your education. 

Mrs. Byrd 

Oh, I have no doubt that inducing the Indians to 
massacre the whites was profitable. 

Peyton 
A good sound basis for the family fortune. 

Uncle George 
Young man, you go too far! 

Peyton 

[Holding book out to Uncle George.] In thinking 
of these worthy men from whom I come? [Turns to 
the wall on which hang portraits of John and Richard 
Peyton.] We don't seem to have Stuart's picture. 
Jhansi, I don't know that we need to leave society. 
There seems little — crevices in these walls of re- 
spectability. 

Jhansi 

And whenever we feel a bit stifled we can always 
find air through our family trees ! 



96 CLOSE THE BOOK 

Mrs. Byrd 

I think, Senator, that we will not remain longer. 

[Mrs. Root returns. 

Mrs. Root 

Mary was just coming. Now we'll have dinner ! 

Bessie 

Yes, a little family party to celebrate the happy — 

Peyton 

[Again bent over his family history.] Grand- 
mother ! Here's something about your ancestor, Gus- 
tave Phelps. 

Grandmother 
[Rising. With weight.] Peyton — close that book. 
(Curtain) 



THE OUTSIDE 
A PLAY IN ONE ACT 



First Performed by the Provincetown Players, 
December 28, 1917 

ORIGINAL CAST 

Captain of " The Bars " Life-Saving Station, 

Abram Gillette 

Bradford, a Live-saver . . Hutchinson Collins 
Tony, a Portuguese Live-Saver . . . Louis Ell 
Mrs. Patrick, who lives in the abandoned Station 

Ida Rauh 

Allie Mayo, who works for her . Susan Glaspell 



THE OUTSIDE 

Scene : A room in a house which was once a life- 
saving station. Since ceasing to be that it has taken 
on no other character, except that of a place zvhich 
no one cares either to preserve or change. It is 
painted the life-saving gray, but has not the life-saving 
freshness. This is one end of what was the big boat 
room, and at the ceiling is seen a part of the frame 
work from which the boat once swung. About two 
thirds of the back wall is open, because of the big 
sliding door, of the type of barn door, and through 
this open door are seen the sand dunes, and beyond 
them the woods. At one point the line zvhere woods 
and dunes meet stands out clearly and there are in- 
dicated the rude things, vines, bushes, which form the 
outer uneven rim of the woods — the only things that 
grow in the sand. At another point a sand-hill is 
menacing the woods. This old life-saving station is 
at a point where the sea curves, so through the open 
door the sea also is seen. [The station is located on 
the outside shore of Cape Cod, at the point, near the 
tip of the Cape, where it makes that final curve which 
forms the Provincetown Harbor.] The dunes are 
hills and strange forms of sand on which, in places, 
grows the stiff beach grass — struggle; dogged grow- 
ing against odds. At right of the big sliding door is a 
drift of sand and the top of buried beach grass is 
seen on this. There is a door left, and at right of big 
sliding door is a slanting wall. Door in this is ajar 
at rise of curtain, and through this door Bradford 
and Tony, life-savers, are seen bending over a man's 
body, attempting to restore respiration. The captain 

99 



ioo THE OUTSIDE 

of the life-savers comes into view outside the big open 
door, at left; he appears to have been hurrying, peers 
in, sees the men, goes quickly to them. 

Captain 

I'll take this now, boys. 

Bradford 

No need for anybody to take it, Capt'n. He was 
dead when we picked him up. 

Captain 

Dannie Sears was dead when we picked him up. 
But we brought him back. I'll go on awhile. 

[The two men who have been bending 
over the body rise, stretch to relax, 
and come into the room. 

Bradford 

[Pushing back his arms and putting his hands on 
his chest.] Work, — try in' to put life in the dead. 

Captain 
Where'd you find him, Joe? 

Bradford 
In front of this house. Not forty feet out. 

Captain 

What'd you bring him up here for ? 

[He speaks in an abstracted way, as if 
the zvorking part of his mind is on 
something else, and in the muMed 
voice of one bending over. 



THE OUTSIDE 101 

Bradford 

[With a sheepish little laugh.] Force of habit, I 
guess. We brought so many of 'em back up here. 
[Looks around the room.] And then it was kind of 
unfriendly down where he was — the wind spittin' the 
sea onto you till he'd have no way of knowin' he was 
ashore. 

Tony 

Lucky I was not sooner or later as I walk by from 
my watch. 

Bradford 

You have accommodating ways, Tony. Not sooner 
or later. I wouldn't say it of many Portagees. But 
the sea [Calling it in to the Captain] is friendly as a 
kitten alongside the women that live here. Allie Mayo 
— they're both crazy — had that door open [Moving 
his head toward the big sliding door] sweepin' out, 
and when we come along she backs off and stands 
lookin' at us, lookin' — Lord, I just wanted to get him 
somewhere else. So I kicked this door open with my 
foot [Jerking his hand toward the room where the 
Captain is seen bending over the man] and got him 
away. [Under his voice.] If he did have any notion 
of comin' back to life, he wouldn't a come if he'd 
seen her. [More genially.] I wouldn't. 

Captain 
You know who he is, Joe? 

Bradford 
I never saw him before. 



102 THE OUTSIDE 

Captain 

Mitchell telephoned from High Head that a dory 
came ashore there. 

Bradford 

Last night wasn't the best night for a dory. [To 
Tony, boastfully.] Not that / couldn't 'a' stayed in 
one. Some men can stay in a dory and some can't. 
[Going to the inner door.] That boy's dead, Capt'n. 

Captain 
Then I'm not doing him any harm. 

Bradford 

[Going over and shaking the frame where the boat 
once swung.] This the first time you ever been in 
this place, ain't it, Tony? 

Tony 

I never was here before. 

Bradford 

Well, / was here before. [A laugh.] And the old 
man — [Nodding toward the Captain] he lived here 
for twenty-seven years. Lord, the things that hap- 
pened here. There've been dead ones carried through 
that door. [Pointing to the outside door.] Lord — 
the ones I've carried. I carried in Bill Collins, and 
Lou Harvey and — huh ! 'sail over now. You ain't 
seen no wrecks. Don't ever think you have. I was 
here the night the Jennie Snow was out there. [Point- 
ing to the sea.] There was a wreck. We got the boat 
that stood here [Again shaking the frame] down that 



THE OUTSIDE 103 

bank. [Goes to the door and looks out.] Lord, how'd 
we ever do it? The sand has put this place on the 
blink all right. And then when it gets too God-for- 
saken for a life-savin' station, a lady takes it for a 
summer residence — and then spends the winter. 
She's cheerful one. 

Tony 

A woman — she makes things pretty. This not like 
a place where a woman live. On the floor there is 
nothing — on the wall there is nothing. Things — 
[Trying to express it with his hands] do not hang on 
other things. 

Bradford 

[Imitating Tony's gesture.] No — things do not 
hang on other things. In my opinion the woman's 
crazy — sittin' over there on the sand — [A gesture 
tozvards the dunes] what's she lookin' at? There 
ain't nothin' to see. And I know the woman that 
works for her's crazy — Allie Mayo. She's a Prov- 
incetown girl. She was all right once, but — 

[Mrs. Patrick comes in from the hall 
at the right. She is a " city woman/' 
a sophisticated person who has been 
caught into something as unlike the 
old life as the dunes are unlike a 
meadow. At the moment she is ex- 
cited and angry. 

Mrs. Patrick 

You have no right here. This isn't the life-saving 
station any more. Just because it used to be — I 
don't see why you should think — This is my house ! 
And — I want my house to myself ! 



104 THE OUTSIDE 

Captain 

[Putting his head through the door. One arm of 
the man he is working with is raised, and the hand 
reaches through the doorway.] Well I must say, lady, 
I would think that any house could be a life-saving 
station when the sea had sent a man to it. 

Mrs. Patrick 

[Who has turned away so she cannot see the hand.] 
I don't want him here! I — [Defiant, yet choking] 
I must have my house to myself! 

Captain 

You'll get your house to yourself when I've made 
up my mind there's no more life in this man. A good 
many lives have been saved in this house, Mrs. Patrick 
— I believe that's your name — and if there's any 
chance of bringing one more back from the dead, the 
fact that you own the house ain't goin' to make a damn 
bit of difference to me ! 

Mrs. Patrick 

[In a thin wild way.] I must have my house to 
myself. 

Captain 

Hell with such a woman! 

[Moves the man he is working with and 
slams the door shut. 

[As the Captain says, " And if there's 
any chance of bringing one more 
back from the dead," Allie Mayo 
has appeared outside the wide door 
which gives on the dunes, a bleak 



THE OUTSIDE 105 

woman, who at first seems little 
more than a part of the sand before 
which she stands. But as she listens 
to this conflict one suspects in her 
that peculiar intensity of twisted 
things which grow in unfavoring 
places. 

Mrs. Patrick 

I — I don't want them here ! I must — 

[But suddenly she retreats, and is gone. 

Bradford 

Well, I couldn't say, Allie Mayo, that you work for 
any too kind-hearted a lady. What's the matter with 
the woman? Does she want folks to die? Appears 
to break her all up to see somebody trying to save a 
life. What d' you work for such a fish for ? A crazy 
fish — that's what I call the woman. I've seen her 
— day after day — settin' over there where the dunes 
meet the woods, just sittin' there, lookin'. [Suddenly 
thinking of it.] I believe she likes to see the sand 
slippin' down on the woods. Pleases her to see some- 
thin' gettin' buried, I guess. 

[Allie Mayo, who has stepped inside 
the door and moved half across the 
room, toward the corridor at the 
right, is arrested by this last — 
stands a moment as if seeing through 
something, then slowly on, and out. 

Bradford 

Some coffe'd taste good. But coffee, in this house? 
Oh, no. It might make somebody feel better. [Open- 



io6 THE OUTSIDE 

ing the door that was slammed shut.] Want me now, 
Capt'n? 

Captain 
No. 

Bradford 

Oh, that boy's dead, Capt'n. 

Captain 

[Snarling.] Dannie Sears was dead, too. Shut 
that door. I don't want to hear that woman's voice 
again, ever. 

[Closing the door and sitting on a bench 
built into that corner between the 
big sliding door and the room where 
the Captain is. 

Bradford 

They're a cheerful pair of women — livin' in this 
cheerful place — a place that life savers had to turn 
over to the sand — huh ! This- Patrick woman used to 
be all right. She and her husband was summer folks 
over in town. They used to picnic over here on the 
outside. It was Joe Dyer — he's always talkin' to 
summer folks — told 'em the government was goin' to 
build the new station and sell this one by sealed bids. 
I heard them talkin' about it. They was sittin' right 
down there on the beach, eatin' their supper. They 
was goin' to put in a fire-place and they was goin' to 
paint it bright colors, and have parties over here — 
summer folk notions. Their bid won it — who'd want 
it? — a buried house you couldn't move. 

Tony 
I see no bright colors. 



THE OUTSIDE 107 

Bradford 

Don't you ? How astonishin' ! You must be color 
blind. And I guess we're the first party. [Laughs.] 
I was in Bill Joseph's grocery store, one day last 
November, when in she comes — Mrs. Patrick, from 
New York. " I've come to take the old life-saving 
station," says she. " I'm going to sleep over there 
tonight ! " Huh ! Bill is used to queer ways — he 
deals with summer folks, but that got him. November 
— an empty house, a buried house, you might say, off 
here on the outside shore — way across the sand from 
man or beast. He got it out of her, not by what she 
said, but by the way she looked at what he said, that her 
husband had died, and she was runnin' off to hide her- 
self, I guess. A person'd feel sorry for her if she 
weren't so stand-offish, and so doggon mean. But 
mean folks have got minds of their own. She slept 
here that night. Bill had men hauling things till after 
dark — bed, stove, coal. And then she wanted some- 
body to work for her. " Somebody," says she, " that 
doesn't say an unnecessary word ! " Well, when Bill 
come to the back of the store, I said, " Looks to me 
as if Allie Mayo was the party she's lookin' for." 
Allie Mayo has got a prejudice against words. Or 
maybe she likes 'em so well she's savin' of 'em. She's 
not spoke an unnecessary word for twenty years. 
She's got her reasons. Women whose men go to sea 
ain't always talkative. 

[The Captain comes out. He closes 
door behind him and stands there 
beside it. He looks tired and dis- 
appointed. Both look at him. 
Pause. 



108 THE OUTSIDE 

Captain 
Wonder who he was. 

Bradford 
Young. Guess he's not been much at sea. 

Captain 

I hate to leave even the dead in this house. But 
we can get right back for him. [A look around.] 
The old place used to be more friendly. [Moves to 
outer door, hesitates, hating to leave like this.] Well, 
Joe, we brought a good many of them back here. 

Bradford 

Dannie Sears is tendin' bar in Boston now. 

[The three men go; as they are going 
around the drift of sand Allie 
Mayo comes in carrying a pot of 
coffee; sees them leaving, puts down 
the coffee pot, looks to the door 
the Captain has closed, moves to- 
ward it, as if drawn. Mrs. Patrick 
follows her in. 

Mrs. Patrick 
They've gone? 

[Mrs. Mayo nods, facing the closed door. 

Mrs. Patrick 

And they're leaving — him? [Again the other 
woman nods.] Then he's — ? [Mrs. Mayo just 
stands there.] They have no right — just because it 
used to be their place — ! I want my house to myself ! 



THE OUTSIDE 109 

[Snatches her coat and scarf from a 
hook and starts through the big door 
toward the dunes. 

Allie Mayo 



Wait. 



[When she has said it she sinks into that 
corner seat — as if overwhelmed by 
what she has done. The other 
woman is held. 

Allie Mayo 

[To herself.] If I could say that, I can say more. 
[Looking at the woman she has arrested, but speak- 
ing more to herself.] That boy in there — his face 
— uncovered something — [Her open hand on her 
chest. But she waits, as if she cannot go on; zvhen 
she speaks it is in labored way — slow, monotonous, 
as if snowed in by silent years.] For twenty years, 
1 did what you are doing. And I can tell you — it's 
not the way. [Her voice has fallen to a whisper; she 
stops, looking ahead at something remote and veiled.] 
We had been married — two years. [A start, as of 
sudden pain. Says it again, as if to make herself say 
it.] Married — two years. He had a chance to go 
north on a whaler. Times hard. He had to go. A 
year and a half — it was to be. A year and a half. 
Two years we'd been married. 

[She sits silent, moving a little back and 
forth. 

The day he went away. [Not spoken, but breathed 
from pain.] The days after he was gone. 

I heard at first. Last letter said farther north — 
not another chance to write till on the way home. 

[A wait. 



no THE OUTSIDE 

Six months. Another. I did not hear. [Long 
wait.] Nobody ever heard. 

[After it seems she is held there, and will not go on.] 
I used to talk as much as any girl in Provincetown. 
Jim used to tease me about my talking. But they'd 
come in to talk to me. They'd say — " You may hear 
yet." They'd talk about what must have happened. 
And one day a woman who'd been my friend all my 
life said — " Suppose he was to walk in!" I got up 
and drove her from my kitchen — and from that time 
till this I've not said a word I didn't have to say. 
[She has become almost wild in telling this. That 
passes. In a whisper.] The ice that caught Jim — 
caught me. [A moment as if held in ice. Comes 
from it. To Mrs. Patrick simply.] It's not the way. 
[A sudden change.] You're not the only woman in 
the world whose husband is dead ! 

Mrs. Patrick 

[With the cry of the hurt.] Dead? My husband's 
not dead. 

Allie Mayo 

He's not? [Slowly understands.] Oh. 

[The woman in the door is crying. 
Suddenly picks up her coat which 
has fallen to the floor and steps out- 
side. 

Allie Mayo 
[Almost failing to do it.] Wait. 

Mrs. Patrick 

Wait ? Don't you think you've said enough ? They 
told me you didn't say an unnecessary word ! 



THE OUTSIDE in 

Allie Mayo 
I don't. 

Mrs. Patrick 

And you can see, I should think, that you've bungled 
into things you know nothing about ! 

[As she speaks, and crying under her 
breath, she pushes the sand by the 
door down on the half buried grass 
— though not as if knowing what 
she is doing. 

Allie Mayo 

[Slowly.] When you keep still for twenty years 
}'ou know — things you didn't know you knew. I 
know why you're doing that. [She looks up at her, 
startled.] Don't bury the only thing that will grow. 
Let it grow. 

[The woman outside still crying under 
her breath turns abruptly and starts 
toward the line where dunes and 
woods meet. 

Allie Mayo 

I know where you're going! [Mrs. Patrick turns, 
but not as if she wants to.] What you'll try to do. 
Over there. [Pointing to the line of woods.] Bury 
it. The life in you. Bury it — watching the sand 
bury the woods. But I'll tell you something! They 
fight too. The woods! They fight for life the way 
that Captain fought for life in there ! 

[Pointing to the closed door. 

Mrs. Patrick 
[With a strange exultation.] And lose the way he 
lost in there! 



ii2 THE OUTSIDE 

Allie Mayo 

[Sure, sombre.] They don't lose. 

Mrs. Patrick 

Don't lose? [Triumphant.'] I have walked on the 
tops of buried trees! 

Allie Mayo 

[Slow, sombre, yet large.] And vines will grow 
over the sand that covers the trees, and hold it. And 
other trees will grow above the buried trees. 

Mrs. Patrick 

I've watched the sand slip down on the vines that 
reach out farthest. 

Allie Mayo 

Another vine will reach that spot. [Under her 
breath, tenderly.] Strange little things that reach out 
farthest ! 

Mrs. Patrick 

And will be buried soonest ! 

Allie Mayo 

And hold the sand for things behind them. They 
save a wood that guards a town. 

Mrs. Patrick 

I care nothing about a woods to guard a town. 
This is the outside — these dunes where only beach 
grass grows, this outer shore where men can't live. 



THE OUTSIDE 113 

The Outside. You who were born here and who die 
here have named it that. 

Allie Mayo 

Yes, we named it that, and we had reason. He 
died here [Reaches her hand toward the closed door] 
and many a one before him. But many another 
reached the harbor ! [Slowly raises her arm, bends it 
to make the form of the Cape. Touches the outside 
of her bent arm.] The Outside. But an arm that 
bends to make a harbor — where men are safe. 

Mrs. Patrick 
I'm outside the harbor — on the dunes, land not life. 

Allie Mayo 

Dunes meet woods and woods hold dunes from a 
town that's shore to a harbor. 

Mrs. Patrick 

This is the Outside. Sand. [Picking some of it 
up in her hand and letting it fall on the beach grass.] 
Sand that covers — hills of sand that move and cover. 

Allie Mayo 

Woods. Woods to hold the moving hills from Prov- 
incetown. Provincetown — where they turn when 
boats can't live at sea. Did you ever see the sails 
come round here when the sky is dark? A line of 
them — swift to the harbor — where their children 
live. Go back! [Pointing.] Back to your edge of 
the woods that's the edge of the dunes. 



H4 THE OUTSIDE 

Mrs. Patrick 

The edge of life. Where life trails off to dwarfed 
things not worth a name. 

[Suddenly sits down in the doorway. 

Allie Mayo 

Not worth a name. And — meeting the Outside ! 

[Big with the sense of the wonder of life. 

Mrs. Patrick 

[Lifting sand and letting it drift through her hand.] 
They're what the sand will let them be. They take 
strange shapes like shapes of blown sand. 

Allie Mayo 

Meeting the Outside. [Moving nearer; speaking 
more personally.] I know why you came here. To 
this house that had been given up ; on this shore where 
only savers of life try to live. I know what holds 
you on these dunes, and draws you over there. But 
other things are true beside the things you want to see. 

Mrs. Patrick 

How do you know they are ? Where have you been 
for twenty years? 

Allie Mayo 

Outside. Twenty years. That's why I know how 
brave they are. [Indicating the edge of the woods. 
Suddenly different.] You'll not find peace there 
again ! Go back and watch them tight! 



THE OUTSIDE 115 

Mrs. Patrick 

[Swiftly rising.] You're a cruel woman — a hard, 
insolent woman! I knew what I was doing! What 
do you know about it? About me? I didn't go to 
the Outside. I was left there. I'm only — trying 
to get along. Everything that can hurt me I want 
buried — buried deep. Spring is here. This morning 
I knew it. Spring — coming through the storm — to 
take me — take me to hurt me. That's why I couldn't 
bear — [She looks at the closed door] things that made 
me know I feel. You haven't felt for so long you 
don't know what it means ! But I tell you, Spring 
is here! And now you'd take that from me — [Look- 
ing now toward the edge of the woods] the thing that 
made me know they would be buried in my heart — 
those things I can't live and know I feel. You're more 
cruel than the sea ! " But other things are true beside 
the things you want to see ! " Outside. Springs will 
come when I will not know that it is spring. [As if 
resentful of not more deeply believing what she says.] 
What would there be for me but the Outside ? What 
was there for you ? What did you ever find after you 
lost the thing you wanted? 

Allie Mayo 

I found — what I find now I know. The edge of 
life — to hold life behind me — 

[A slight gesture toward Mrs. Patrick. 

Mrs. Patrick 

[Stepping back.] You call what you are life? 
[Laughs.] Bleak as those ugly things that grow in 
the sand! 



n6 THE OUTSIDE 

Allie Mayo 

[Under her breath, as one who speaks tenderly of 
beauty.] Ugly ! 

Mrs. Patrick 

[Passionately."] I have known life. I have known 
life. You're like this Cape. A line of land way out 
to sea — land not life. 

Allie Mayo 

A harbor far at sea. [Raises her arm, curves it 
in as if around something she loves.] Land that en- 
closes and gives shelter from storm. 

Mrs. Patrick 

[Facing the sea, as if affirming what will hold all 
else out.] Outside sea. Outer shore. Dunes — land 
not life. 

Allie Mayo 

Outside sea — outer shore, dark with the wood that 
once was ships — dunes, strange land not life — 
woods, town and harbor. The line ! Stunted straggly 
line that meets the Outside face to face — and fights 
for what itself can never be. Lonely line. Brave 
growing. 

Mrs. Patrick 

It loses. 

Allie Mayo 
It wins. 

Mrs. Patrick 

The farthest life is buried. 



THE OUTSIDE 117 

Allie Mayo 

And life grows over buried life ! [Lifted into that; 
then, as one who states a simple truth with feeling.'] 
It will. And Springs will come when you will want 
to know that it is Spring. 

[The Captain and Bradford appear be- 
hind the drift of sand. They have 
a stretcher. To get away from them 
Mrs. Patrick steps farther into the 
room; Allie Mayo shrinks into her 
comer. The men come in, open the 
closed door and go in the room 
where they left the dead man. A 
moment later they are seen outside 
the big open door, bearing the man 
away. Mrs. Patrick watches them 
from sight. 

Mrs. Patrick 

[Bitter, exultant.] Savers of life! [To Allie 
Mayo.] You savers of life! "Meeting the Out- 
side!" Meeting — [But she cannot say it mockingly 
again; in saying it, something of what it means has 
broken through, rises. Herself lost, feeling her way 
into the wonder of life.] Meeting, the Outside ! 

[It grows in her as slowly. 

(Curtain) 



WOMAN'S HONOR 

A COMEDY IN ONE ACT 



First Performed by the Provincetown Players, 
April 26, 1918 



Mr. Foster, The Lawyer . . . 


Justus Sheffield 


Gordon Wallace, The Prisoner 


. Clark Branyon 


Boy 


Murray Cooper 


The Shielded One 




Marjory Lacey 


The Motherly One 




Dorothy Upjohn 


The Scornful One 


The 


Ida Rauh 


The Silly One 


Women 


Norma Millay 


The Mercenary One 




Alice MacDougal 


The Cheated One 




Susan Gaspell 



WOMAN'S HONOR 

Scene: A room in the sheriff's house which is used 
for conferences. At the rear is a door into the hall, 
at the left a door leads to an adjoining room. There 
is also a door at the right, going to the corridor which 
connects this house with the jail. 

Lawyer and Prisoner are found in heated conver- 
sation. The prisoner, an attractive young man, is 
seated, and has just turned away from the Lawyer, 
irritated. 

Lawyer 

Do you know that murder is no laughing matter? 

Prisoner 
Well, was I laughing? 

Lawyer 

[Shoots it at him.] Where were you on the night 
of October 25? [Prisoner sits like one who never 
means to speak again.] Your silence shields a 
woman's honor. Do you know what's going to be 
said of you ? You're going to be called old-fashioned ! 
[A worried look Hits over the prisoner's face.] A 
man will not tell where he is because it involves a 
woman's honor ! How quaint ! [In a different voice.] 
Say, do you think she's worth it? 

[Prisoner rises angrily. 

Yes, get red in the face, I should think you would. 
Blush. Blush for shame. Shame of having loved a 
woman who'd let a man face death to shield her own 
honor ! 

121 



122 WOMAN'S HONOR 

Prisoner 
You don't know what you're talking about. 

Lawyer 

It's just like a woman, the cowards. That's what 
I most despise in women. Afraid they won't be looked 
upon as the pure noble sensitive souls they spend 
their lives trying to make us believe they are. Sicken- 
ing! 

Prisoner 

There are things you don't understand. 
Lawyer 

Oh, yes, I do. I suppose she's got a husband. I 
suppose he'd divorce her. Then she wouldn't be asked 
out to tea quite so often. Good Lord — die for 
something real! 

Prisoner 

You and I have different ideals, Mr. Foster. There 
are things we don't discuss. 

Lawyer 

There are things we have to discuss. If you insist 
upon this romantic course, then at least we will have 
to get something out of that. 

Prisoner 
What do you mean ? 

Lawyer 
Simply that public feeling has got to swing toward 



WOMAN'S HONOR 123 

you or the jury will say you murdered Erwalt. If we 
can't have an alibi, let us by all means have a hero ! 

Prisoner 

[Outraged.] Have you given out a story to the 
newspapers ? 

Lawyer 

[Drawing paper from his pocket.] Very delicately 
done. "A life for a life." Isn't that moving? 
" While Gordon Wallace languishes in his cell, some 
woman is safe in a shielded home. Charged with the 
murder of John Erwalt, young Wallace fails to cut 
his chain of circumstantial evidence with an alibi. 
Where was Gordon Wallace on the night of October 
25? He maintains a dogged silence. Behind that 
silence rests a woman's honor " — and so on, at some 
length. 

Prisoner 

You had no right to give out a story without my 
consent ! 

Lawyer 

Oh, yes, I have. If I can't get your consent for 
saving your life, then, my young friend, I shall save 
it without your consent. Pardon my rudeness. 

Prisoner 

How will this save it ? 

Lawyer 

How little romantic young men know the romantic 
sex. Wives — including, I hope, jurors' wives — will 
cry, " Don't let that chivalrous young man die ! " 



124 WOMAN'S HONOR 

Women just love to have their honor shielded. It is 
very touching to them. 

Prisoner 

Mr. Foster, I tell you again, I dislike your attitude 
toward women ! Laugh at me if you will, but I have 
respect and reverence for women. I believe it is 
perfectly true that men must guard them. Call me 
a romantic young fool if it pleases you, but I have 
had a mother — a sister — sweetheart. Yes, I am 
ready to die to shield a woman's honor! 

[As he says this the door slowly opens 
and a woman steps in. 

Shielded One 

No ! You shall not ! 

[Quite taken aback, the men stand look- 
ing at her. She has breeding, poise 

— obviously she has stepped out of 
a world where women are shielded. 
She maintains a front of her usual 
composure, but there is an intensity 

— an excitement — which indicates 
she is feeling some big new thing. 
Lawyer looks from her to the 
Prisoner, who is staring at the 
Woman. 

Lawyer 
[To Woman.] Oh — you've come? 

Shielded One 
[Firmly, but with emotion.] I have come. 



WOMAN'S HONOR 125 

Prisoner 
I don't understand. 

Lawyer 
You were not willing to let him die? 

Shielded One 
No. 

Lawyer 

Good. This young man — [He pauses, embarrassed, 
for it does not seem a thing to say to this lady] was 
with you on the night of October 25? 

Shielded One 
Yes. 

Prisoner 
Why, no I wasn't. 

Lawyer 
There is no use, Gordon, in trying to keep the lady 
from doing what she has apparently determined to do. 

Shielded One 
No. You cannot keep me from doing what I have 
determined to do. 

Lawyer 

For my part, I respect you for it. Then you are 
prepared to testify that on the night of October 25 
Gordon Wallace was with you from twelve o'clock 
midnight till eight next morning? 

Shielded One 
[A little falteringly, yet fervent.] Yes. 



126 WOMAN'S HONOR 

Lawyer 
Was with you — continuously ? 

Shielded One 
Yes. 

Lawyer 
Your name is — ? 

[He takes out his note-book. 

Prisoner 

[In distress.] Don't give him your name! He'll 
use it ! I tell you this is all a mistake. I don't know 
this lady. I never saw her before. [To the Woman.] 
You mustn't do this! 

Shielded One 
[Proudly, and with relief.] I have done it! 

Lawyer 

And as I said, madam, I greatly respect you for 
doing it. You are, if I may say so, unlike most of 
your sex. Now — your name? 

Shielded One 
[This is not easy for her.] Mrs. Oscar Duncan. 

Lawyer 

And Mrs. Duncan you live at — ? [A noise in the 
hall.] I fear some one is coming in. Will you just 
step in here? 

[He shows her into the room at the left. 
They hear the corridor door open 
and turn. A woman is coming in 



WOMAN'S HONOR 127 

— rather plump, middle-aged — a 
pleasant, motherly looking woman. 
She looks from the Lawyer to the 
Prisoner, moves to get a better look 
at the young man, who becomes 
nervous under this scrutiny; then 
she seems to have it straight in her 
mind, nods pleasantly. 

Motherly One 
[Cheerily.] Good morning. 

Lawyer 
Good morning. 

Motherly One 

[To Prisoner.] Good morning. 

Prisoner 

[Not cheerily.] Good morning. 

Motherly One 

There was no one out there, so I just walked right 
in. [Lawyer nods.] I thought you might be glad to 
see me. 

Lawyer 

Oh — we are. [To Gordon.] Aren't we? 

Motherly One 
I suppose I am in the right place. 

Lawyer 
Well, it is the right place for some things. 



128 WOMAN'S HONOR 

Motherly One 
Is it the place to tell the truth about Gordon Wallace ? 

Lawyer 
It seems to be. 

Motherly One 

[Very cheerfully.] Well, then, on the night of Oc- 
tober 25 that young man — [Steps for a better look 
at the Prisoner] this young man — was with me. 

Lawyer 

From twelve o'clock midnight until eight next morn- 
ing? 

Motherly One 

[Placidly.] From twelve o'clock midnight till eight 
next morning. 

[She takes a muffler from her bag and 
sits down and begins to knit. 

Lawyer 

Was with you — continuously ? 

Motherly One 

Oh, certainly — continuously. 

[She knits serenely on. 

Lawyer 
Well — Gordon. 

Motherly One 

[Pleasantly.] It seems that mufflers get longer and 
longer. [Looking up at Lawyer.] Doesn't it? 



WOMAN'S HONOR 129 

Lawyer 

Why — perhaps they do. But — you are willing to 
leave your name and address ? 

Motherly One 

Certainly, I'm willing to leave my name and address. 
What else would I be here for? Oh — but could I 
use the telephone first. [Rises.] It will be better to 
let them know that I'll probably be late getting home 
for lunch. 

Lawyer 

[Is about to open door of the room in which the 
Shielded One is waiting.] No — there's some one in 
there. Here [Going to the door at the other side of 
the room], I'll show you how to get through to the jail 
phone. 

Motherly One 

The jail! But we'll soon have you out of jail. 

[She goes, giving the young man an 
encouraging smile. The Lawyer 
steps out with her. The young man 
hears the rear door opening — this 
door into the hall has a slight squeak 
— starts nervously, looks around to 
see a young woman come in. In 
a keen, cool amused way she is star- 
ing at him. He turns away, petu- 
lantly hitching his chair. She moves 
where she can see him better, takes 
from her bag a newspaper picture, 
looks from it to him. He turns, sees 
what she is doing; she smiles at 
He looks like one at bay. 



130 WOMAN'S HONOR 

Enter Lawyer. Sees what is go- 
ing on, smiles. 

Lawyer 
On the night of October 25 — ? 

Scornful One 

[To Lawyer.] I understand that down here a man 
is about to die for a woman's honor. 

Lawyer 
He had some such thing in mind. 

Scornful One 

[To Lawyer.] Now you can't get away with that. 
Sorry to upset your plans, but the death seems un- 
called for. On the night of October 25 — Gordon 
Wallace was with me. 

Lawyer 

From twelve o'clock midnight till eight next morn- 
ing? 

Scornful One 

From twelve o'clock midnight until eight next morn- 
ing. 

Lawyer 
[Rather feebly.] Con-tinuously ? 

Scornful One 
[In an offhand voice.] Continuously. 



WOMAN'S HONOR 131 

Lawyer 

Well — well, Gordon, I begin to understand why 

you hesitated to tell the truth about that momentous 

night. Rise and thank the lady, Gordon; it would 

seem the least you could do would be to rise and — 

[As he is saying this to Gordon, in 

rushes a fussily dressed hysterical 

woman and throws her arms around 

the Lawyer's neck. 

Silly One 
Darling ! I cannot let you die for me ! 

Lawyer 

[Trying to free himself.] Pardon me, madam, 
but — 

Silly One 

Gordon! You call me madam after that night to- 
gether. Oh my beloved, when I think of those hours 
I lay in your arms — 

Lawyer 

Pardon me, but you never lay in — 

Silly One 

I know. Ah — I understand. You pretend not to 
know me. You would die to shield me — but you 
shall not! You cannot escape me! 

Lawyer 

[Still unsuccessful in freeing himself.] Apparently 
not. But permit me to tell you, you are making a 
mistake. 



132 WOMAN'S HONOR 

Silly One 

No! I am not making a mistake! You shall not 
die for me. 

Lawyer 

I really don't intend to — if I can help it. 

Silly One 

Love is so beautiful So ennobling! [Overcome 
with emotion, loosens her hold.] When I think of 
that night — October 25 — 

[Smfo into a chair. 

Lawyer 

[After settling his collar.] Well, Gordon, have you 
a choice? [Pause.] You see you didn't understand 
women as well as you thought. 

Prisoner 

[Fiercely.] Neither did you! 

[The Sheriff's Boy comes in. 

Boy 
While I was over at the bank, women came. 

Lawyer 
Yes, I know. 

'Boy 

[Looking at the two women in the room.] But 
more women. [Prisoner starts in terror.] Six 
women are' out there. 



WOMAN'S HONOR 133 

Prisoner 

Don't let them in! 

Lawyer 

Tell the ladies we shall not need them. Thank 
them for coming. [Boy goes out. To Prisoner.] 
Well, come now. What shall we do with this em- 
barrassment of — generosity? You see dying for a 
woman's honor isn't as easy as you might think. It 
even looks as though there were a sort of conspiracy 
against it. 

Prisoner 

I'm not going to be made a fool of. 
Lawyer 

Are you sure you can help it? 

[The Boy comes back, looking worried. 

Boy 

Some of those women won't go away. I don't 
know what to do with them. 

Lawyer 

No, it's not a matter the young can cope with. 

[He goes out with the Boy. The amused 
young Woman sits looking the 
Prisoner over, to his embarrass- 
ment and final irritation. 

Scornful One 

So you were thinking of dying for a woman's honor. 
[He says nothing.] Now do you think that's a very 



i 3 4 WOMAN'S HONOR 

nice way to treat the lady? [He turns away petu- 
lantly.] Seems to me you should think of her feelings. 
Have you a right to ruin her life ? 

Prisoner 
[Startled into speech.] Ruin her life? 

Scornful One 

Why certainly. A life that somebody has died for 
is practically a ruined life. For how are you going 
to think of it as anything but — a life that somebody 
has died for? [She pulls her chair to a more con- 
fidential angle.] Did it ever strike you as funny that 
woman's honor is only about one thing, and that man's 
honor is about everything but that thing? [After 
waiting for the answer which does not come.] Now 
woman's honor means woman's virtue. But this lady 
for whom you propose to die has no virtue. 

Prisoner 
[Springing up.] Please be careful what you say. 

Scornful One 

I'm being very careful. I'm thinking it out just 
as carefully as I can. The night of October 25, 
or at some time previous to that, she lost her vir- 
tue, and you propose to die to keep us from knowing 
about this loss. Now, it has happened, hasn't it? On 
the night of October 25, from twelve o'clock mid- 
night till eight next morning continuously she lost 
her virtue. You aren't dying to keep her virtuous. I 
fancy few lives have been laid upon that altar. But 



WOMAN'S HONOR 135 

you're dying to keep us from knowing she is what she 
is. Dear me, it seems rather sad. 

Silly One 
[Controlling her tears.] It is noble beyond words. 

Scornful One 

There's where you're going to get your approbation. 
[The Motherly One now returns 
from her telephoning. She looks at 
the Silly Woman, then at the 
Scornful One — these two stand 
looking one another up and down. 

Scornful One 

[In her amused manner.] Can it be that we are 
two souls with but a single thought? 

Motherly One 

[In her mothering voice.] Perhaps we are two 
hearts that beat as one. 

[They stand there a moment not know- 
ing what to do; then, still uncer- 
tainly, they sit down, stealing glances 
at one another. Finally the Scorn- 
ful One smiles. 

Scornful One 
We might draw lots. 

Silly One 
Love conquereth all things. 



136 WOMAN'S HONOR 

Scornful One 
Even the female brain. 

Motherly One 
I wonder why you others came. 

Scornful One 
Why did you come ? 

Motherly One 

Oh, I have children of my own. I thought, he's 
just a nice boy, and probably she's just some nice 
girl afraid of her mother. And I thought — well, 
now what an awful pity to let him die, or even spend 
a lot of time in prison. I said to myself, it would 
be just like a lot of men to fuss around about a 
woman's honor and really let it hurt somebody. So I 
decided — well, I'll go. What harm can it do me? 
[Resumes her knitting.'] You- see, I'm in the habit 
of trying to save lives. I do nursing — practical nurs- 
ing — and I didn't happen to be on a case just now, 
so I thought — well, I'll just take this case. Some 
of the folks I nurse for may be shocked — but good 
sensible nurses aren't so easy to get. Of course my 
children may be upset about it — but they're awful 
nice children, and when they're a little older probably 
they'll be pleased to think their mother didn't want 
a nice boy to die. [Drops her knitting.] I wonder 
if she will come. 

[Looks at the other two with new in- 
. terest. 

Scornful One 
I wonder. 



WOMAN'S HONOR 137 

Silly One 



" She " is here. 



Scornful One 



Oh, it's not you. You thought it was the lawyer 
you were with. Anyway, people who do things don't 
make so much fuss about them. 

Motherly One 

[Whose interest has not been diverted.] I think 
she will have to come. 

[The door of the room into which the 
Shielded One was shown opens 
quietly and without the others being 
aware of it the Shielded One is 
standing in the doorway, bringing 
with her that sense of the ordered 
protected life out of which she has 
stepped. 

Scornful One 

I'm sure I don't see how she could ever think of 
staying away. I hate a coward. 

Motherly One 

Some women think a great deal about their honor. 
I think usually it's women who aren't very well — 
or who haven't much else to take up their time. 

[Impulsively the Shielded One steps 
forward as if to speak. Hearing 
her, they turn, and in their interest 
rise and stand looking at her. 



138 WOMAN'S HONOR 

Motherly One 

Oh — you've come? 

[The Prisoner who to get away from 
the women gives the impression of 
being crowded into a corner, also 
turns and rises. 

Prisoner 

[To Shielded One, rather crossly.] Please go 
away ! 

O-h. 



Scornful One 



Prisoner 
Can't you see there is no need for your staying? 

Shielded One 

[Quietly.] There is need of it. 

[She sits down, the other women still 
surveying her. 

Motherly One 

It's true we aren't all needed. Who will be best — ? 
[To Scornful One.] Tell me, why are you here? 

Scornful One 

Well, you see for myself I haven't any honor to 
worry about, and haven't had for some time. So I 
thought, if the sacrifice of a woman's honor is going 
to save, a man's life, let me, who have none, nobly 
sacrifice mine. 

Motherly One 

What do you mean, you haven't had any honor for 
some time? 



WOMAN'S HONOR 139 

Scornful One 

Oh, I haven't had my honor around with me since 
I was seventeen. 

Motherly One 
[Kindly.] Do you miss it? 

Scornful One 

Well — yes; sometimes when I'm tired I might 
like to slump back into it. You see honor camouflages 
so many things — stupidity, selfishness — greed, lust, 
avarice, gluttony. So without it you're almost forced 
to be a decent sort — and that's sometimes wearing. 
[In another voice.] But I'll tell you why I'm really 
here ! When men begin to sob around about woman's 
honor they get my goat. That lawyer — he thought 
he was going to get away with it. Why, woman's 
honor would have died out long ago if it hadn't been 
for men's talk about it. 

Motherly One 

I suppose it really has to be kept up, as long as it 
gives men such noble feelings. 

Scornful One 

That man — the one when I was seventeen — he's 
that sort. He would be of course. Why, this instant 
his eyes would become " pools of feeling " if any one 
were to talk about saving a woman's honor. [Under 
her breath.] Gee! 

Motherly One 
[With a diffident glance at the Shielded One.] 



140 WOMAN'S HONOR 

If she is here, she must be feeling quite upset. If 
she cares enough about her honor to have held back 
this long — it can't be easy to let it go. 

Scornful One 

She'll be better off without it. 

Motherly One 

I don't know. You see, she's had it quite a while. 
She's used to it. I was thinking — 

[The door opens and a brisk young 
woman dressed in cheap, up-to-the- 
minute clothes darts in. All turn 
and look at her, continue to stare. 
Something in this scrutiny becomes 
disconcerting. 

Mercenary One 

While he was busy with the other women — I just 
slipped by. Is this — ? 

[Sees the young man, now huddled in 
terror. 

Scornful One 

Sit down and wait your turn. 

Mercenary One 

Are all of you ahead of me? 

Scornful One 

Your number seems to be five. 

[Number five sits down; a pause in 
which they continue to look at her 
in this unusual zvay — she finally 



WOMAN'S HONOR 141 

rather indignantly settles her. coat, 
her hat, assuring herself nothing is 
the matter with her. 

Motherly One 
You look young for this. 

Mercenary One 

Well, if you'll excuse my saying so, the same ob- 
jection can't be made to some of you. 

Scornful One 
What are you here for? 

Mercenary One 

Oh, I guess I'm here for about the same reason 
all of you are here. 

Motherly One 
But we are here for different reasons. 

Mercenary One 

Say, what are you tryin' to put over on me? Sup- 
pose I think you're here for your health? Or out of 
kindness? Or to show your great beauty? Hard-/y. 
Anybody not feeble-minded could dope out why you're 
sitting here like owls. 

Scornful One 
Well — why? 

Mercenary One 
Oh, not for money, of course. 

[She has horrified them all. 



142 WOMAN'S HONOR 

Motherly One 
I'm sorry you said that. 

Silly One 
How sordid! How desecrating! 
Mercenary One 
Say — I don't like the atmosphere of this place. 

Scornful One 

We don't like it as well as we did. 

Mercenary One 

A business proposition is a business proposition. 
What a man needs and can pay for — 

Silly One 

[Rising and wringing her hands.] I really must 
ask you — Love is so beautiful ! 

Mercenary One 
Well, suppose it is ? What's that got to do with it ? 

Motherly One 
You seem hard for one so young. 

Mercenary One 
I may be hard, but I'm not a nut. 

Scornful One 

Woman's honor doesn't play much part in your 
young life, does it ? Or woman's self-respect, either. 



WOMAN'S HONOR 143 

Mercenary One 

[Rising.] Say, you think you can sit there and 
insult me? I don't know what you are, but I'll have 
you know I'm an honest working girl ! I heard they 
were going to take on another stenographer down here, 
but I don't like the atmosphere of this place. 

[She leaves. 

Silly One 

[Settling herself with relief.] It was a misunder- 
standing. Ah, life is paved with misunderstanding. 

Motherly One 

It will be said we did this for money. 

Scornful One 

Oh, a great deal will be said. If you care about 
what's said you'd better follow the honest working 
girl out that door. 

Motherly One 

What's said makes an awful difference in some 
people's lives. 

[Her eyes turn toward the Shielded 
One. 

Scornful One 

They don't know how much difference until they've 
heard it said. 

[She too looks at the Shielded One. 

Motherly One 
You get made into one thing and then it's not easy 



i 4 4 WOMAN'S HONOR 

to be another. And as the honest working girl hinted, 
some of us aren't as young as — we'd like to be. 

Scornful One 

Age shouldn't discourage one. It's never too late to 
mend. 

[The door swings, the women look ex- 
pectantly around; the unfortunate 
young man, whose face has been 
buried in his hands, looks round in 
terror. They wait a moment but no 
one comes in. 

* Motherly One 

If " she " is here, and really minds losing her honor 
— well, she could just go home. [Silly One rises, 
simpers, sits down again.] We can't all lose our 
honor. It might do the young man more harm than 
good. It's different with you — [To Scornful One] 
you had an early start. And then you've got character. 
You don't need honor to lean on. 

Shielded One 

[Breaking her silence with simple intensity.] What 
is woman's honor? 

Scornful One 
A thing men talk about. 

Motherly One 
A safe corner. 

Silly One 

A star to guide them ! 



WOMAN'S HONOR 145 

Shielded One 
[Very earnestly.] Guide them where? 

Scornful One 

Yes, where? Many a woman who's guided hasn't 
guided anywhere. 

Shielded One 

[Passionately.] Aren't we something more than 
things to be noble about? 

Scornful One 

Of course what we've really been is kind. We have 
not deprived them of the pleasures of being noble. 
If we do it now, it will leave them in a bleak world. 

Shielded One 

[Troubled but determined.] Can't we put some- 
thing in its place, so they won't be too desolate and 
yet we won't be so — 

Scornful One 

Bored. 

Motherly One 

If we" could only get them noble about something 
else. I should really hate to take it from them en- 
tirely. It's like giving up smoking or drinking. You 
have to do it gradually, and there should be something 
to put in its place. 

Scornful One 
If we could only think up a new vice for them. 



146 WOMAN'S HONOR 

Motherly One 

They have all those. 

Shielded One 

Oh, I hope you women can work out some way to 
free us from men's noble feelings about it! I speak 
for all the women of my — [Hesitates] under-world, 
all those others smothered under men's lofty senti- 
ments toward them! I wish I could paint for you 
the horrors of the shielded life. [Says "shielded" 
as if it were "shameful."] I know you would feel 
something must be done to save us. After all [Grow- 
ing a little wild] are we not your sisters ? Our honor 
has been saved so many times. We are tired. And 
so when I read in the paper this morning that woman's 
honor was being saved again — 

Scornful One 

[Excitedly going to her.] Read in the paper? 
-Then you're not — the one? 

Shielded One 

Not that one, but — 

[Slowly the door opens and a woman 
comes in — comes with a strange 
quiet. She droops, she has a queer 
passivity — she is unaccountably 
forceful. Gives a sense of one who 
has been cheated and is going to be 
cheated no more. She is scarcely 
aware of the other women. Her 
eyes, dead, or rather dogged with 
life, go to the unfortunate young 
man. He has turned to look at her; 
he is not able to look away. 



WOMAN'S HONOR 147 

Scornful One 
[Nervously.] Are you a stenographer? 

Cheated One 

[Not interested in this.] No. 

[In her dogged way she advances upon 
the Prisoner. He is afraid. She 
sits down close to him, as if to cut 
off escape. 

Motherly One 

[Low.] I wonder if she is here. 

Scornful One 
I wonder. 

Shielded One 

[ With an effort bringing herself and the others back 
to her.] But don't turn against me because I'm not 
this particular woman. What a detail that is. I am 
— those victims of men's dreadful — [Turns away her 
face] need for nobility. I'd rather die than go back 
to it! Help me to lead another life! 

Scornful One 
[Fervently.] We must lift her up. 

Motherly One 

We will find a place for her in the great good world 
outside the shielded life. 

Shielded One 
Then you others go, and I will stay. 



i 4 8 WOMAN'S HONOR 

[Motherly One and Scornful One 
rise and move to the door. 

Silly One 

I will give my life for yours, my sister ! 

Scornful One 

No you won't. I'll have nothing to do with saving 
you. You deserve nothing better than woman's honor. 
Come with us. 

[But at the door these three stand look- 
ing back at the Cheated One. 

Scornful One 

[Moving down to her.] Aren't you coming with 
us? 

Cheated One 

[Without raising her eyes.] No. 

Scornful One 
Why not? 

Cheated One 
I shall stay. 

Motherly One 

Perhaps she is here. And if " she " is here — then 
we have not the right to leave her. 

[Indicating the Shielded One. 

Scornful One 

[To Cheated One.] Tell us: are you the woman 
Gordon Wallace was with on the night of October 
25? 



WOMAN'S HONOR 149 

Cheated One 
Yes. 

Motherly One 

Of course we've all said that. 

Scornful One 

But she says it in a different way. 

Motherly One 

[To Shielded One.] I am afraid that you will 
have to leave with us. It seems she has the right. 

[These four move to the door. 

Shielded One 

[Thinking of it just in time.] But do you think 
she has the right just because she is the one? 

[To consider this, they go back and sit 
down. 



Leave me! 



Silly One 



Scornful One 



[Wickedly inspired.] Suppose we do! You know, 
I like the idea. Why — the more I think about it — 
the better I like it. [To the other women.] Yes, 
come! [To the young man.] This is the lady you 
were going to die for! 

Shielded One 

[Distressed.] But, no! What can it do for her? 
And how, through her, can we reach my poor sisters 
smothered under woman's honor? I insist upon it ! I 
am the one ! 



150 WOMAN'S HONOR 

Cheated One 

[Suddenly turning upon her.] You are not the 
one! 

Motherly One 

Now I think, to avoid feeling between you two, 
I had better stay. I'm a nurse, and a mother, and 
I keep coming back to the idea these things are needed. 

Scornful One 

No, you have too many other things to do. I am 
the one to remain. I am — peculiarly fitted for it. 

Shielded One 

You are not fitted for it at all. There is no one 
less fitted for it than you. 

Scornful One 
How do you make that out? 

Shielded One 
You don't need it. Woman's honor never hurt you. 

Scornful One 

[Reluctantly accepting this. To Prisoner.] Are 
you acquainted with this woman? 

[Indicates Cheated One. 

Prisoner 

No. 

Scornful One 

Then why are you so afraid of her? 



WOMAN'S HONOR 151 

Prisoner 
I'm not — 

[But he is forced to meet the smoldering 
eye of the Cheated One; he can- 
not look away. 

Shielded One 

[Almost in tears.] But you were going to help me 
lead a better life. And now you stand here quibbling 
over a petty question of fact, when the whole great 
question of escape from woman's honor is at stake ! 
Oh, is it true that women will not help one another? 
That they are hard and self-seeking? 

[She breaks down; Motherly One 
goes to comfort her. 

Silly One 
My heart is full — 

•• 

Scornful One 

Your heart is full of a simpering parrot ! 

[The Lawyer returns. 

Lawyer 

Ladies — ladies — quarreling ? I'm sorry to find you 
in this mood. I had hoped while you were here to- 
gether you might — arrive at some understanding. 

Scornful One 

[To Silly One.] I wish you'd go home. We 
might arrive at something if we didn't have you on 
our backs. 



152 WOMAN'S HONOR 

Lawyer 
Now why must women always dislike each other? 

Motherly One 

# 

[In her motherly way.] If I were you I'd try not 
to talk much. 

Lawyer 
Why not? 

Scornful One 

She has a kind heart. Now I — I'd let you talk. 

Lawyer 

Sometimes it seems quite as well not to try to follow 
women. 

Scornful One 

Sometimes even better. 

Lawyer 

Well now, Ladies, let us drop personal dissentions 
for the moment. This unfortunate young man, Mr. 
Wallace, is much moved by your generosity. He had 
made up his mind to die for woman's honor. Now it 
seems he is not to do so — a change of plan to which 
he has not yet adjusted himself. His perturbation 
makes him unequal to selecting the lady who was with 
him on the night of October 25. [Door swings, 
Prisoner looks around nervously.] So — I would 
like to get your feeling. Since it seems unnecessary 
for all of you to have been with the young man on the 
night of October 25 — *», 

[Again door swings. 



WOMAN'S HONOR 153 

Prisoner 

[In a rasped voice.] Could that door be closed ? It 
makes me — nervous. 

[Motherly Woman closes the door. 

Lawyer 

Now, doubtless you will agree with me that we 
should always eliminate waste. If a woman's honor is 
to be sacrificed, may I without indelicacy inquire who 
would sacrifice least? 

Shielded One 
[Firmly.] I would. 

Lawyer 
[Weakly.] You would? 

Cheated One 

[In a voice dull as destiny.] The rest of you can 
talk as long as you like. I shall stay. 

[She rises and takes firm hold of the 
1 unfortunate young man's chair. 

Lawyer 
Well, there seems something final about that. 

Motherly One 
Tell us, are you the one ? 

Cheated One 
I am the one to stay. 



154 WOMAN'S HONOR 

Scornful One 
Now, don't cheat. Tell us, are you — 

Cheated One 

[Passion flaming through sullenness.] Cheat? 
Cheat? You say to me, don't cheat? I don't cheat. 
I've been cheated. Cheated out of my chance to have 
a man I wanted by a man who would have what he 
wanted. Then he saved my woman's honor. Mar- 
ried me and cheated me out of my life. I'm just 
something to be cheated. That's the way I think of 
myself. Until this morning. Until I read about Gor- 
don Wallace. Then I saw a way to get away from 
myself. It's the first thing I ever wanted to do that 
I've done. You'll not cheat me out of this. Don't 
you try! 

Shielded One 

But she is thinking of it in just a personal way. 

Cheated One 

That's why I stay. 

Shielded One 

But think of my poor sisters ! All those unfortunate 
women — 

Cheated One 

The only unfortunate woman I'll think about is 
myself. 

Shielded One 

[Wildly.] You hear her? The only unfortunate 
woman she'll think about — 



WOMAN'S HONOR 155 

Motherly One 

[Approaching Cheated One.] Now we really 
must ask you — 

Silly One 

Love is so beautiful! 

Scornful One 
You can't cheat just because you've been cheated. 

Cheated One 

[Inflamed — incoherent.] You say cheat to me 
again? You say cheat to — 

Lawyer 

[Stepping in to pacify.] Ladies — ladies. Surely 
there must be a way out of the difficulty. Perhaps we 
can work out some way to — 

Scornful One 

To save both of them through Gordon Wallace! 

[All women except Cheated One draw 
together excitedly. The Prisoner, 
who has rapidly been approaching 
the breaking point makes a move as 
if he must try to escape. The 
Cheated One is watching the other 
women. 

Scornful One 

Here ! Yes ! On the night of October 25 — 

[Their heads together in low-voiced con- 
ference with Lawyer. Suddenly 
the Prisoner slips around the 



156 WOMAN'S HONOR 



Cheated One — i trying now not to 
be cheated of what is being said — 
and makes for the door. It opens 
in his face, and the doorway is 
blocked by a large and determined 
woman. Prisoner staggers back to 
Lawyer's arms. 



Prisoner 
Oh, hell. I'll plead guilty. 

(Curtain) 



■BERNICE 

A PLAY IN THREE ACTS 



First Performed by the Provincetown Players, 

New York, 

March 21, 1919. 

ORIGINAL CAST 

Mr. Allen, Bernice's Father . . O. K. Liveright 

Abbie 5.€r;vuw t Susan Glaspell 

Craig Norris, Bernice's Husband James K. Light 
Laura (Mrs. Kirby), Craig's Sister Blanche Hays 
Margaret Pierce, Bernice's Friend . . Ida Rauh 



BERNICE 

ACT ONE 

Scene : The living-room of Bernice's house in the 
country. You feel yourself in the house of a woman 
you would like io know, a woman of sure and beautiful 
instincts, who lives simply. At the spectator's right, 
stairs go up from the living room; back of this — 
right, rear, a door; to the front of the stairs is a nar- 
rowed passage as of a hall leading to the kitchen. On 
the other side of the room, is a tea-table before the 
fireplace, and before it is a low rounded chair, as if 
awaiting the one who will come to serve tea. Toward 
the rear of this left wall is a door. This door is closed. 
From the back of the room French windows lead di- 
rectly out of doors. On each side of this door is a 
window thus opening almost the entire wall to the 
October woods. There are comfortable seats under 
the windows, books about. It is late afternoon and 
the sun glows through the flaming leaves. As the 
curtain is drawn the Father is seen sitting at a long 
table at the side of the stairway, playing solitaire. 
At the back of the cards, open books are propped 
against the wall, and papers on which he has been 
writing. Abbie, a middle-aged servant, is attending 
to the open fire. 

Father 

[Holding up a card he is about to place.] Ten 
minutes since the train whistled. They'll be here in 
five minutes now. 

Abbie 
Yes, sir. 

159 



i6o 



BERNICE 



Father 

It will be hard for Craig to come in this house, 
Abbie. 



Oh, yes. 



Abbie 



Father 



Bernice made this house. [Looking - around.} 
Everything is Bernice. [A pause.] Change some- 
thing, Abbie! [With growing excitement.] .Put 
something in a different place. [He takes a pillow 
from the seat under the window, holds it irresolutely 
a moment, puts it on the 'floor at the side of the fire- 
place. On the other side he moves a high vase from 
the window. Then helplessly.] Well, I don't know. 
You can't get Bernice out of this room. The tea- 
table ! Come, Abbie, quick ! We will take this out 
of the room. [Together, Abbie reluctant, they move 
it to the passage-way leading out from the living-room. 
The Father comes back and sees the chair, now with- 
out its table. He goes as if to move it, but cannot 
do this; looks old and broken as he faces the closed 
door.] I wish they'd left Bernice upstairs, Abbie, 
in her own room. Now there — so near the living- 
room — right off the living-room. [Hastily goes back 
to his cards, but in an instant he brushes them together 
and pulls the open book toward him, and papers; but 
he only rests his hand on the book.] There'll be only 
Craig and his sister on this train, Abbie. 



Abbie 



That's all I know of. 



BERNICE 161 

Father 

But Margaret Pierce will be here soon. As soon 
as she can get here, Margaret will come. Within an 
hour, probably. 

Abbie 

[Apprehensive.] You think so, sir? 

Father 

I think so. That train from the West got to the 
Junction at three. I have a feeling Margaret won't 
wait for the five o'clock train to get here. She'll get 
a car. [Abbie goes to the door and looks out.] It 
would save a little time, and — she doesn't know that 
Bernice — Yes, Margaret will get here the quickest 
way. She always came to Bernice when Bernice 
needed her. 

Abbie 

She doesn't need anyone now. 

Father 

No. But yes — in a way, she does. She needs 
some one to be here to do what she can't go on doing. 
Margaret will see that — when she knows. Margaret 
sees everything. 

Abbie 

[Frightened now.] You think so, sir? 

Father 

Oh, yes, she does. Bernice knew that. " Margaret 
sees things," I've heard Bernice say. [Abbie turns 
from him.] Now Mrs. Kirby, Craig's sister Laura, 



162 BERNICE 

she's a sensible woman, she'll be a help to you, Abbie, 
in — arranging things. But see things? No. How 
different people are. They're all different, Abbie. I 
don't think Bernice cared much for Laura — though 
she didn't mind her. She'd just laugh about Laura 
— about her being so sure of everything. It was nice, 
Abbie, the way Bernice would just laugh about things. 
She had no malice. 

Abbie 

[Strangely intense.] No. She didn't have, did 
she? 

Father 

Oh, no, Abbie. Malice wasn't in her. It was just 
that a good many things — well, the things that are 
important to most people weren't so important to 
Bernice. It was another set of things Were important. 
People called her detached. But — I don't know. 
Maybe they're detached, Abbie. Maybe it's Laura 
Kirby, the sensible woman, who's detached, — Bernice 
would have laughed at that — the practical person 
who's detached, and Bernice. . . . You know what 
I mean, Abbie? 

Abbie 

I think I do ' — knowing her. 

Father 
To you — did she seem detached? 

Abbie 

[Tenderly thinking it out.] She was loving, and 
thoughtful, and gay. But always a little of -what she 
is now — [Faces the closed door] off by herself. 



BERNICE 163 

[With that intensity the present moment does not ac- 
count for.] You can't expect to understand a person 
who is " off by herself." Now can you ? 

Father 

I understood Bernice. Except, there were things 
— outside what I understood. 

Abbie 

[Eagerly.] That's it. And we should take what 
we had, shouldn't we, and not try to reach into — to 
where we didn't go. 

Father 

I suppose that's true, Abbie. [Buries his face.] 
I wish my little girl hadn't died. What am I going 
to do, Abbie? How can I stay here? And how can 
I go away ? We should die in our proper order ; I 
should have gone before my daughter. Anything else 
makes confusion. There's not going to be anybody to 
laugh at me now, Abbie. I'll miss the way Bernice 
laughed at me, a laugh that took me in and — yes, took 
me in. She laughed at my spending the whole time 
of the war studying Sanscrit. Well, why shouldn't 
I ? What can the old do about war ? I had my vision 
of life. If that had been followed there'd have been 
no war. But in a world that won't have visions — 
why not study Sanscrit while such a world is being 
made over — into another such World. [Listening.] 
You hear some one, Abbie? 

Abbie 
[After listening.] It didn't turn in. 



V 



164 BERNICE 

Father 

And you, Abbie. [With wonder.] Why you were 
with us when Bernice was born. 

Abbie 

Yes, I was — in the room the night she was born. 
The night she died I thought of the night she was 
born. 

Father 

That was — how long ago, Abbie? 

Abbie 
Thirty-five years ago. 

Father 

Was Bernice thirty-five years old? She was, Abbie 
— my little girl? Well, life moves by — and we 
hardly know it's moving. Why, Abbie, your whole 
life has been lived around Bernice. [Abbie nods.] 
It will be now as if things had — fallen apart. And 
it was the main thing in your life — doing things for 
her. 

Abbie 

[With excitement.] Yes, it was the main thing in 
my life — doing what she wanted. I couldn't do any- 
thing else now, could I? 

Father 

[A little surprised at her agitation, but not thinking 
about it.] Why, no. Now some one is coming, Abbie. 
You hear them coming? 



BERNICE 165 

Abbie 

I think so. [She goes to the door.] Yes. 

[Abbie opens the door and Laura and 
Craig come in. Craig holds back 
as if to enter this house is something 
he can scarcely make himself do; 
he does not look around the room. 

Laura 

[To the Father, taking his hand.] This is so hard 
for you, Mr. Allen. I cannot tell you — [Turning to 
Abbie] Abbie. 

Father 

[Going to Craig, who is still at the door.] Well, 
Craig. [The Father holds out his hand, Craig takes 
it.] Well, I don't know what we're going to do with- 
out her. 

Laura 

[Coming to the rescue with the practical.] And 
where are you going to put us, Abbie? 

Abbie 
I have the rooms ready upstairs. 

Craig 
[As if he cannot do this.] Upstairs? 

Abbie 

[In a lozv voice.] She is down here, sir. 

[She indicates the closed door. Then 
takes Laura's bag and they start 
upstairs. Craig does not move. 



166 BERNICE 

Laura 

[On the stairway.] Aren't you coming up, Craig, to 
get clean and rest a little? 

Craig 

In a minute or two. [He sits down — on the edge 
of a chair near the door. The Father and husband 
sit there silent.] Bernice — hadn't been sick long, had 
she? 

Father 

No, it was very sudden. You know she had had 
trouble occasionally in the past year; Dr. Willis had 
said she might have to go to the hospital. At first 
this seemed like that — so Abbie and I weren't really 
alarmed. Of course we sent for Willis, but he was in 
Boston. Young Stuart had the grip. So there was no 
doctor here — till afterwards. 

Craig • 

And — how long was Bernice sick? 

[He speaks with difficulty. 

Father 

She spoke of feeling badly on Tuesday. She was 
lying down most of that day. Wednesday — she didn't 
get up at all Wednesday. And she died late Wednes- 
day night. [Emotion breaking through.] Abbie and 
I were here all alone ! 

Craig 

Did she say — Did she leave — Well, we can 
talk of that later. 



BERNICE 167 

Father 

[Changing to something not so hard to speak of.] 
You landed last week? 

Craig 

Yes, I was held in New York by things to do. [A 
glance at the Father.] Of course, if I had had any 
idea — 

Father 
Of course. 

Craig 

But Bernice wrote me she was fine. 

Father 

She seemed so. She was well and — seemed very 
happy here this fall. You know how she loves to 
tramp the woods in the fall. She was counting on 
your coming home. She had done over your room 
upstairs. And hers too. They both look so nice and 
fresh. And she was just starting to do some things 
to Margaret's room. Margaret was coming next 
month for a rest. She's been working very hard. 

*0 Craig 

Are you expecting Margaret now ? 

Father 

Yes. Wednesday evening Bernice seemed to want 
Margaret to come. She thought maybe Margaret 
could get away now, and that it would do her good too. 
She had been worrying about her — thinking she was 
working too hard. Margaret's been in Chicago, you 
know, working on some labor things — I never know 



168 BERNICE 

just what it is she is doing. Bernice seemed to want 
to see her. I wonder if Bernice herself felt it was 
more than we knew. Anyway, she wanted us to send 
for Margaret. 

Craig 

But you didn't send for me until — until it was over. 
Father 

No. You see we didn't know — Abbie and I didn't 
have any idea — I spoke of sending for you when we 
sent the telegram for Margaret, but Bernice said you'd 
be here soon anyway, and she didn't want to hurry you 
away from New York. [As if not understanding it 
himself, and trying to find an explanation.] I suppose 
you were doing something that she knew about, and 
didn't want to interrupt. 

[Craig half looks at him. 

Craig 
And Margaret answered that she was coming? 

Father 

Yes, we heard from her Thursday morning that 
she had started. She could get here^day. We didn't 
know where to reach her telling her it was too late now 
for — for the visit with Bernice. [Breaking.] I just 
can't believe it ! Think of what you and I are talking 
about! Bernice, out of life. She was so — of it. 
Didn't you feel that, Craig — about Bernice? 

Craig 

Yes. She seemed so — secured. It never seemed 
anything could — destroy Bernice. 



BERNICE 169 

Father 
When I think she won't come down those stairs 



again 



Craig 
I can't — think of things that way now. 

Father 

No. No, of course not. [He does not know what 
to say, so gathers together his cards, then books.] 
I'll just — I was just going in my room. [Pause.] 
I've been getting on fine with my Sanscrit, Craig. 

Craig 
That's good. 

Father 

And now the war is over, and some of the people 
who fussed around about it influenced it as little as I, 
and I — have my Sanscrit. You know, Bernice used 
to laugh at me, Craig. She — the way she used to 
laugh at us — lovingly. Seems to me I'll miss that 
most of all. 

[He goes into his room — through the 

door to the rear of the stairway. 
[Alone in the room, Craig tries to look 
around. He cannot. He has taken 
a step toward the closed door when 
he hears Abbie's step on the stairs. 

Craig 

[Impetuously going to her, his hands out.] Abbie, 
you were good to her. [Takes her hands, holds them 
tight. Then changing.] Why didn't you telegraph me 
when she was taken sick? [Violently.] Do you 



170 BERNICE 

think there was anything in New York I wouldn't have 
left? Bernice knew that if she needed me — She 
never seemed to need me. I never felt she — couldn't 
get along without me. [Taking a few stumbling steps 
toward the room where Bernice is.] Oh, I wish I 
could have a talk with her. 

Abbie 

Mr. Norris ! [Her tone halts him.] There's some- 
thing I must tell you. 

Craig 

A — message she left ? 

Abbie 

Message ? No. Yes — perhaps. Before you go in 
there I must tell you — 

[They are arrested by the sound of a 
stopping car; neither moves; in a 
moment Margaret Pierce hurries 
in. 

Margaret 

[After looking at them.] She's worse? [Growing 
more and more alarmed by them.] Where is she? 

[Starts towards the stairs. 

Abbie 
No — there. 

[Pointing. 

Craig 

[Stepping between Margaret and the closed door.] 
She's dead, Margaret. 



BERNICE 171 

Margaret 

Dead? Oh — 'no. Not Bernice. [Waits implor- 
ingly.] But that couldn't be. 

Craig 

I know. I know what, you mean, Margaret. 

[It seems Margaret is about to fall; 
Craig brings a chair; without taking 
a step she sinks to it, facing the 
closed door. Abbie turns and goes 
out, toward the kitchen. 

Margaret 

[A slight quick turn of her head to him.] I don't 
believe it! 

Craig 
It's true, Margaret. 

Margaret 
[Like blood from her heart.] But Bernice — she 
was life. 

Craig 

I know — what you mean. 

Margaret 

[After much has gone on in her.] And I wasn't 
here! 

Craig 
No. Nor I. 

Margaret 

[A moment later, just having taken this in.] Why 
weren't you here? 



172 BERNICE 

Craig 
I didn't know she was sick. 

Margaret 
Your boat got in a week ago. 

Craig 
Yes. I was detained in New York. 

Margaret 
Detained by May Fredericks? 

Craig 

Margaret! Bernice wouldn't want you to talk that 
way to me — now. 

Margaret 
No. 

Craig 

Why, she knew it. Bernice knew I was staying 
out on Long Island with them while I was attending 
to some things about my work. I had a beautiful 
letter from Bernice. She was perfectly all right — 
about everything. And I was anxious now to get 
home to her. I was getting ready to start the very 
day I got the telegram that — that it was like this. 
You mean — .you think I didn't make Bernice happy, 
Margaret ? 

Margaret 

Oh, I don't think you had the power to make her 
very unhappy. 



BERNICE 173 

Craig 

That's a cruel thing to say, Margaret. Bernice 
wouldn't say that to me. 

Margaret 

[Who is all the while looking straight ahead at the 
closed door.] No. 

Craig 
She understood me. 

Margaret 

And was indulgent. 

Craig 

[After a pause.] Margaret, did you ever feel you 
didn't really get to Bernice? 

Margaret 

Get to her? So far as I had power. She never 
held me back. Life broke through her — a life deeper 
than anything that could happen to her. 

Craig 

Yes, that's it. Something you couldn't destroy. A 
life in her deeper than anything that could be done to 
•her. That — that makes a difference, Margaret. I 
never had Bernice. 

Margaret 

Oh, wasn't it wonderful to you that beneath what 
you " had " was a life too full, too rich to be had? I 
should think that would flow over your life and give it 
beauty. 



174 BERNICE 

Craig 

I suppose a man's feeling is different. He has to 
feel that he moves — completely moves — yes, could 
destroy — not that he would, but has the power to 
reshape the — 

Margaret 

Craig! "Reshape" Bernice! [In anguish.] Oh, 
I came to see her. Not to sit here talking to you. 

Craig 

I loved her, Margaret. I valued her — even though 
her life wasn't made by my life. And she loved me. 
You think she didn't? 

Margaret 

No, Craig, I don't think she didn't. I know she did. 
I was thinking of those things in her — even greater 
than loving. Those things in her even loving never 
— caught. 

Craig 
Yes. I know, Margaret. 

Margaret 

I want to see Bernice ! 

[Crying she goes blindly toward the 

closed door, and to Bernice. 
[A second time left alone in the room, 
Craig now looks at those various 
things with which he and Bernice 
have lived. When he can no longer 
do this he goes to the passage way at 
the front of the staircase. 



BERNICE 175 

Craig 

Abbie ! [After a moment's wait Abbie comes 
slowly in.] When Miss Margaret came, you were 
about to tell me something. My wife — left a message 
for me? 

Abbie 

Yes. No — I don't know. [Wildly.] She killed 
herself ! 

Craig 

[Falling back.] What — are — you — saying? 

Abbie 

She — did it herself. Took her life. Now I've 
told you ! You know now ! 

Craig 

[Roughly taking hold of her.] What's this you're 
saying? What's this lie you're trying to — < [Letting 
go of her — in horror, imploringly.] Abbie! Tell me 
it isn't true. 

Abbie 

It's true. I'm telling you. It's true. She — 
didn't want to live any longer — so she took some- 
thing — ended her life. That's all. That's all. I can 
tell you. Nobody knows. Not her father — nobody. 
I thought I ought to tell you. Now I've told you! 
Let me go. I've told you — I — 

[She breaks from him and rushes out. 
Craig does not move. Margaret 
comes from Bernice, without look- 
ing at Craig, opens the door to go 
outside. 



176 BERNICE 

Craig 

[Scarcely able to call to her.] Margaret. 

Margaret 
[Not turning.] I'll be back soon. 

Craig 

[Wildly.] You can't go away leaving me alone 
with this! I tell you I can't stand it. You're going 
to the woods to think of Bernice! Well I'll tell you 
one thing. You never knew Bernice. You thought 
she didn't love me. You think I didn't matter. But 
Bernice killed herself because she loved me so ! 



Margaret 




What — are — you — saying ? 




Craig 




Abbie just told me. No one knows. 


Not her father 


— only Abbie. 




Margaret 




It is not true. 




Craig 





Yes. Abbie was with her. Oh, Margaret, she loved 
me like that. 

Margaret 

And you killed her ! 

Craig 

No — Oh, don't say that! I didn't know. 



BERNICE 177 

Margaret 

[After trying to take it in.] I knew Bernice. She 
was life. She came from the whole of life. You 
are asking me to believe that because of — some little 
thing in her own life — 

Craig 

But it wasn't a little thing. That's what we didn't 
know. I was everything to Bernice. More than all 
that life we felt — [Some one is heard above.] I 
think Laura's coming down. Laura mustn't know. I 
had to have you know. Nobody else. Not Laura. 

Laura 
[On the stair s.'] Oh, Margaret, you have come? 

Margaret 

I was just going out. [As Laura comes nearer.] 
I'm going to take a walk ! 

[She goes out. 
Laura 

[Looking after her.] Take a walk. She alway9 
does some strange thing. [Craig has sunk to a chair, 
his back to Laura.] Why should she rush away like 
this, as if it were so much harder for her to stay in 
this house than for anyone else? [Craig, bowed, 
covers his face with his hands.] Has she been trying 
to make you feel badly, Craig? [She goes up to him 
and puts a hand on his bent shoulder.] Don't let hef 
do that. It isn't true. It isn't as if Bernice were 
— like most women. There was something — aloof 
in Bernice. You saw it in her eyes; even in her 



178 BERNICE 

smile. Oh, I thought she was wonderful, too. Only, 
it isn't as if Bernice — 

Craig 
If you think she didn't love me, you're wrong! 

Laura 

Oh — Craig ! Love you, of course. Only — 
things that might have hurt another woman — 

Craig 

How do we know who's hurt? Who isn't? Who 
loves — who doesn't love ? Don't talk, Laura. 

[She stands there beside him; the 
Father, coming in, at first sees only 
Laura. 

Father 

I must have dropped the ten of diamonds. [Seeing 
Craig.] Of course. Of course. I try not to think 
of it. My little girl. She loved life so. Always. 
From the time she Was a baby she did rejoice so in 
the world. 

[He stands looking at the closed door. 
Abbie comes in; looks at Craig, 
hesitates, then slowly crosses the 
room and takes the traveling-bag 
he brought in when he came; another 
look at his bowed head, then, her- 
self bowed, starts up the stairs. 

(Curtain) 



ACT TWO 

Scene: As in Act One, save that it is evening now; 
the reading lamp is lighted, and candles. Laura is 
sitting before the Hre knitting. Abbie is standing at 
the foot of the stairs, as if Laura had called to her 
as she came down. 

Laura 

But he took the tray, did he, Abbie? 

Abbie 
He let me leave it. 

Laura 

And how did he seem ? 

Abbie 

I didn't see his face. And he didn't say anything. 

Laura 

He wasn't like that until Margaret Pierce came. 
How long was Mrs. Norris sick, Abbie? [As she 
asks this the outer door opens and Margaret comes 
in.] Been out looking at the stars, Margaret? Aren't 
they bright up here in the hills? 

Margaret 

I — I didn't see them. 

[She looks at Abbie, who is looking at 
her. Abbie turns away from Mar- 
garet's look. 
179 



180 BERNICE 

Laura 

I was asking you — how long was Mrs. Norris 
sick, Abbie? 

Abbie 
Two days. 

Laura 

And just what did the doctor say was the matter? 

Abbie 

The doctor wasn't here. 

[She steals a glance at Margaret, who 
is all the while looking at her. 

Laura 
I know. But afterwards — what was his opinion? 

Abbie 

Attacks like she had had before — only worse. Ul- 
cers in the stomach, he thought it was. 

Laura 

It's a great pity you couldn't get a doctor. That's 
the worst of living way up here by one's self. Mrs. 
Norris had seemed well, hadn't she? 

Abbie 

Yes, except once in a While ; the doctor had said that 
she ought to go to the hospital to find out. 

Margaret 
[To Laura.] Too bad Craig wasn't here. 



BERNICE 181 

Laura 
Yes. He was detained in New York. 

Margaret 
Yes. I know. 

Laura 

Abbie, I wish you would go up and ask Mr. Norris 
if he would like some more coffee and — see how he 
seems. [To Margaret, resentfully.] I don't under- 
stand why Craig should be quite like this. [Abbie 
does not move until Laura looks at her in surprise, 
then she turns to go.] No; I'll go myself, Abbie. 
I want to see how he is. 

[She goes up, and Abbie comes back. 
Without looking at Margaret she 
is turning toward the kitchen. 

Margaret 

Abbie ! [Reluctantly Abbie comes back, at first not 
looking up. Then she raises her eyes.] Yes, he told 
me. [Abbie does not speak or move.] Had she 
seemed unhappy, Abbie? 

Abbie 
No. No, I hadn't noticed anything. 

Margaret 

Abbie ! Don't shut me out like this ! She wouldn't 
shut me out. Bernice loved me. 

Abbie 

I know. I know she did. But there's nothing for 
me to tell you, Miss Margaret, and it's hard for me 



182 BERNICE 

to talk about. I loved her too. I lived with her her 
whole life long. First the baby I took care of and 
played with — then all the changing with the different 
years — then this — 

[A move of her hands towards the closed 
door. 

Margaret 

Yes — then this. [Gently.'] That's it, Abbie. 
" This " — takes away from all that. Abbie, do you 
understand it? If you do, won't you help me? 

Abbie 
I don't understand it. 

Margaret 

It's something so — outside all the rest. That's 
why I can't accept it. Something in me just won't 
take it in — because it isn't right. I knew her. I 
know I knew her! And this — Why then I didn't 
know her. Can't you help me? 

Abbie 
I don't see how, Miss Margaret. 

Margaret 

But if you would tell me things you know — little 
things — even though they meant nothing to you they 
might mean something to me. Abbie! Because you 
loved her don't you want what she was to go on living 
in our hearts ? 

Abbie 

Oh, I do! I do! But she'll go on living in my 
heart without my understanding what she did. 



BERNICE 183 

Margaret 

But differently. I'll tell you what I mean. Every- 
thing about her has always been — herself. That was 
one of the rare things about her. And herself — oh, 
it's something you don't want to lose! It's been the 
beauty in my life. In my busy practical life, Bernice 
— what she was — like a breath that blew over my 
life and — made it something. 

Abbie 
I know — just what you mean, Miss Margaret. 

Margaret 

It's inconceivable that she should — cut off her own 
life. In her lived all the life that was behind her. 
You felt that in her — so wonderfully. She felt it 
in herself — or her eyes couldn't have been like that. 
Could they? Could they, Abbie? 

Abbie 
It — wouldn't seem so. 

Margaret 

She wouldn't destroy so much. Why she never 
destroyed anything — a flower — a caterpillar. Don't 
you see what I mean, Abbie? This denies so much. 
And then is it true that all this time she wasn't happy ? 
Why she seemed happy — as trees grow. Did Mr. 
Norris make her unhappy? Oh, don't think you 
shouldn't talk about it. Don't act as if I Shouldn't 
ask. It's too big for those little scruples. Abbie! 
I can't let Bernice's life go out in darkness. So tell 
me — just what happened — each little thing. [Mar- 



184 BERNICE 

garet has taken hold of Abbie; Abbie has turned 
away.] When did you first know she had — taken' 
something? Just what did she say to you about it? 
I want to know each little thing! I have a right to 
know. 

[A step is heard above. 

Abbie 
[As if saved.] Mrs. Kirby's coming down now. 

Margaret 

I want to talk to you, Abbie, after the others have 
gone to bed. 

[Laura comes down, Abbie passes her 
at the foot of the stairs, and goes 
through to the kitchen. 

Laura 

Margaret, what is to be gained in making people feel 
worse than they need ? Craig upstairs — he's so 
broken — strange. And even Abbie as she passed me 
now. You seem to do this to them. And why? 

Margaret 
I don't do it to them. I'm not very happy myself. 

Laura 

Of course not. None of us can be that. But I 
believe we should try to bear things with courage. 

Margaret 

That comes easily from the person who's bearing 
little ! 



BERNICE 185 

Laura 

You think it means nothing to me that my brother 
has lost his wife? 

Margaret 

Your brother has lost his wife ! That's all you see 
in it! 

Laura 

I don't" see why you seem so wild — so resentful, 
Margaret. Death should soften us. 

[She takes her old place before the fire. 

Margaret 

Well I can tell you this doesn't soften me! 

Laura 

I see that you feel hard toward Craig. But Bernice 
didn't. You think he should have come right home. 
But you must be just enough to admit he didn't have 
any idea Bernice was going to be taken suddenly sick. 
He had been out of the country for three months, 
naturally there were things connected with his writing 
to see about. 

Margaret 

Connected with his writing! Laura! Don't lie 
about life with death in the next room. If you want 
to talk at a time like this, have the decency to be 
honest ! Try to see the truth about living. Craig 
stayed in New York with May Fredericks — and he 
doesn't pretend anything else. Stayed there with May 
Fredericks, continuing an affair that has been going on 
for the past year. And before it was May Fredericks 
it was this one and that one. Well, a!ll right. That 



186 BERNICE 

may be all right. I'm not condemning Craig for his 
affairs. I'm condemning you for the front you're 
trying to put up! 

Laura 

I certainly am not trying to put up any front. It's 
merely that there seems nothing to be gained in speak- 
ing of certain things. If Craig was — really unfaith- 
ful, I do condemn him for that. I haven't your liberal 
ideas. [Slight pause, she takes up her knitting.] It's 
unfortunate Bernice hadn't the power to hold Craig. 

Margaret 
Hadn't the power to hold Craig! 

Laura 

She didn't want to — I suppose your scoffing means. 
Well, she should have wanted to. It's what a wife 
should want to do. 

Margaret 

Oh, Laura, Bernice will never say one more word 
for herself ! In there. Alone. Still. She will notl 
do one new thing to — to throw a light back on other 
things. That's death. A leaving of one's life. Leav- 
ing it — with us. I cannot talk to you about what 
Bernice " should have been." What she was came 
true and deep from — [Throwing out her hands as 
if giving up saying it. Taking it up again.] It's true 
there was something in her Craig did not control. 
Something he couldn't mess up. There was something 
in her he might have drawn from and become bigger 
than he was. But he's vain. He has to be bowling 
some one over all the time — to show that he has power. 



BERNICE 187 

Laura 

I don't agree with you that Craig is especially vain. 
He's a man. He does want to affect — yes, dominate 
the woman he loves. And if Bernice didn't give him 
that feeling of — 

Margaret 
Supremacy. 

Laura 

There's no use trying to talk with you of personal 
things. Certainly I don't want to quarrel tonight. 
That would not be the thing. [In a new tone.] How 
is your work going? I don't quite know what you 
are doing now, but trying to get some one out of prison, 
I suppose? 

Margaret 

Yes; I am trying to get out of prison all those 
people who are imprisoned for ideas. 

Laura 
I see. 

Margaret 

I doubt if you, see, Laura. 

Laura 

Well I don't say I sympathize. But I see. 

Margaret 

No; for if you did see, you would have to sym- 
pathize. If you did see, you would be ashamed; you 
would have to — hang your head for this thing of 
locking any man up because of what his mind sees. If 



188 BERNICE 

thinking is not to become — whatever thinking may 
become ! — then why are we here at all ? [She stops 
and thinks of it.] Why does Bernice — her death 
— make that so simple tonight? Because she was 
herself. She had the gift for being herself. And she 
wanted each one to have the chance to be himself. 
Anything else hurt her — as it hurt her to see a dog 
tied, or a child at a narrow window. 

Laura 

I don't think Bernice was a very good wife for a 
writer. 

Margaret 

She would have been a wonderful wife for a real 
writer. 

Laura 

Oh, I know she didn't value Craig's work. And 
that's another thing. And I suppose you don't value 
it either. [She looks at Margaret, who does not 
speak.] Fortunately there are many thousands of peo- 
ple in this country who do value it. And I suppose 
you think what I do of little value too. I suppose 
you scoff at those things we do to put cripples back 
in life. 

Margaret 

No, Laura, I don't scoff at anything that can be 
done for cripples. Since men have been crippled, 
cripples must be helped. I only say — Don't cripple 
minds — strong free minds that might go — we know 
not where! Might go into places where the light of 
a mind has never been. [Rising.] Think of it! 
Think of that chance of making life even greater than 



BERNICE 189 

death. [With passion.] If you have any respect for 
life — any reverence — you have to leave the mind 
free. I do not scoff at you, but you are not a serious 
person. You have no faith — no hope — no self-re- 
spect ! 

Laura 

[Rising.] You tell me I have no self-respect ! You 
who have not cared what people thought of you — 
who have not had the sense of fitness — the taste — 
to hold the place you were born to — you tell me, 
against whom no word was ever spoken, that I have 
no self-respect? 

Margaret 

You have a blameless reputation, Laura. You have 
no self-respect. If you had any respect for your own 
mind you could not be willing to limit the mind of any 
other. If you had any respect for your own spiritual 
life you could not be willing to push your self into 
the spiritual life of another. [Roughly.] No! 
You could not. [As one seeing far.] I see it as I 
never saw it. Oh I wish I could talk to Bernice! 
Something is down. I could see things as I never 
saw them. 

Laura 

[Gathering up the things she had been working 
with.] I will go before I am insulted further. 

Margaret 

There's nothing insulting in trying to find the truth. 
[Impulsively reaching out her hands to Laura, as she 
is indignantly going.] Oh, Laura, we die so soon! 
We live so in the dark. We never become what we 



iqo BERNICE 

might be. I should think we could help each other 
more. 

Laura 

[After being a moment held.] It would have to 
be done more sympathetically. 

Margaret 

I didn't mean to be unsympathetic. [Watching 
Laura go up the stairs.] I suppose that's the trouble 
with me. [She stands a moment thinking of this. 
Then there is something she wants to say. She knows 
then that she is alone — and in this room. Slowly 
she turns and faces the closed door. Stands so, quite 
still, realising. Suddenly turns to the stairway, goes 
up a few steps.] Craig 1 ! [Listens, then goes up 
another step and calls a little louder.] Craig! 

Laura 

[From above.] Please don't disturb Craig, Mar- 
garet. 

[Margaret hesitates, turns to go down. 
A door opens above. 

Craig 

Did some one call me? 

Margaret 

I did, Craig. I'm down here alone — lonely. 

Craig 

[As if glad to do so.] I'll come down. [After 
coming.] I wanted to come down. I thought Laura 
was down here. I can't pretend — not tonight. 



BERNICE 191 

Margaret 

No. I can't. I wanted so to talk to Bernice, and 
when I couldn't I — called to you. 

Craig 

I was glad to hear my name. It's too much alone. 
[He and Margaret stand there hesitatingly, as if they 
are not able to do it — settle down in this room and 
talk. Craig takes out his cigarette case. In the sub- 
dued voice of one whose feeling is somewhere else.] 
You want a cigarette, Margaret? 

Margaret 
No. I don't believe so. 

Craig 

Oh, I remember, you don't like these. Bernice must 
have some of the — 

[He opens a chest on the mantel, takes 
from it a beautiful little box. 

Margaret 

[As she sees the box.] Oh — [Turning away.] 
Thank you, Craig, but — 

Craig 

Of course. [Holds the box for a moment, then 
slowly replaces it. He looks around the room. Then, 
helplessly.] I don't know what I'm going to do. 

[He sits down before the fire. Mar- 
garet also sits. The door at the 
other side of the room opens and the 
Father comes in from his room. 



192 BERNICE 

Father 

I was going to bed now. I thought I'd go in here 
first. 

[Slowly goes in where Bernice is. A 
little while Craig and Margaret sit 
there silent. 

Craig 

And I don't know what he's going to do. Poor old 
man. Bernice was certainly good to him — keeping 
him happy in that life he made for himself away from 
life. It's queer about him, Margaret. Somehow he 
just didn't go on, did he? Made a fight in his youth, 
and stopped there. He's one of the wrecks of the 
Darwinian theory. Spent himself fighting for it, and 
— let it go at that. [Running his hand through his 
hair.] Oh, well, I suppose we're all wrecks of some- 
thing. [With a nervous laugh.] What are you a 
wreck of, Margaret? You're a wreck of free speech. 
[Impatiently.] I'm talking like a fool. I'm nervous. 
I'll be glad when he goes to bed. [Looking upstairs.] 
I guess Laura's gone to bed. [After looking into the 
fire.] Well, Bernice isn't leaving any children to — 
be without her. I suppose now it's just as well we 
lost our boy before we ever had him. But she would 
have made a wonderful mother, wouldn't she, Mar- 
garet ? 

Margaret 
Oh, yes ! 

Craig 

You ever wish you had children, Margaret? 



BERNICE 193 

Margaret 
Yes. 

Craig 

[Roughly.] Well, why don't you have? 

Margaret 

[Slowly.] Why, I don't just know, Craig. Life — 
seems to get filled up so quickly. 

Craig 

Yes. And before we know it, it's all over — or as 
good as over. Funny — how your mind jumps 
around. Just then I thought of my mother. How 
she used to say: "Now eat your bread, Craig." 

[His voice breaks, he buries his face in 
his hands. Margaret reaches over 
and puts a hand on his shoulder. 
The door opens and the Father 
comes out. He stands looking at 
them. 

Father 

[Gently.] Yes. Of course. I'm glad you're here 
Margaret. But my little girl looks very peaceful, 
Craig. [Pause.] She had a happy life. 

[Craig moves, turning a little, away. 
Margaret makes a move as if to 
shield him, but does not do this. 

Father 
Yes ; she had a happy life. Didn't she, Margaret ? 

Margaret 
I always thought so. 



194 BERNICE 

Father 

Oh, yes. She did. In her own way. A cairn way, 
but very full of her own kind of happiness. [After 
reflection.] Bernice was good to me. I suppose she 
might have liked me to have done more things, but — 
she wanted me to do what — came naturally to me. 
I suppose that's why we always felt so — comfortable 
with her. She was never trying to make us some — 
outside thing. Well — you know, Margaret, I can see 
her now as a baby. She was such a nice baby. She 
used to — reach out her hands. [Doing this himself.] 
Well, I suppose they all do. I'm going to bed. [After 
starting.] I'm glad you're here with Craig, Margaret. 
Bernice would like this. You two who know all about 
her — well, no, nobody knew all about Bernice — but 
you two who were closest to her, here now as — close 
as you can be. I'm going to bed. Good-night. 

Margaret 
[Crying.] Good-night. 

Craig 

[After the father has closed his door. With vio- 
lence.] " Reached out her hands ! " And what did 
she get? [Roughly grasping Margaret's wrists.] I 
killed Bernice. There's no use in your saying I didn't. 
I did. Only — [Letting go of her] don't flay me to- 
night, Margaret. I couldn't stand it tonight. [With 
another abrupt change.] Am I a fool? Why did I 
never know Bernice loved me like this? [In anguish.] 
Why wouldn't I know it? [Pause.] We don't know 
anything about each other. Do we, Margaret ? Noth- 
ing. We never — get anywhere. [Shivering.] I'm 



BERNICE 195 

cold. I wonder if there's anything to drink in the 
house. There must be something. [He goes out into 
the kitchen; after a moment there is the sound of 
running water; he comes in with a bottle of whiskey, 
a pitcher of water.] I don't see the glasses. Things 
seem to have been moved. [Looks at Margaret as if 
expecting she will go and get them; she does not; he 
goes out again. From the kitchen.] Margaret, have 
you any idea where the glasses are? 

Margaret 

No, Craig. / don't know. [After hearing him 
moving things around.] Isn't Abbie somewhere 
there? 

Craig 

No; she isn't here. She seems to have gone out- 
doors. She's left the door open too. No wonder it 
was cold. [Calling at an outer door.] Abbie! 
[Sound of the door closing. Again the sound of dishes 
being moved.] Well, I don't know where they can 
have put — 

Margaret 

[Covering her face.] Don't look for things. [More 
quietly.] Bring anything, Craig, there must be some- 
thing there. 

Craig 

[Coming in with cups.] Things have been moved 
around. I stumbled over things that didn't used to be 
there. You'll have a little, Margaret? It — we need 
something. 



196 BERNICE 

Margaret 

I don't — oh, I don't care. 

[He pours the drinks and drinks his. 

Craig 

[Abruptly shoving his cup away.] Margaret, I 
loved Bernice. I suppose you don't believe that! 
And I thought Bernice knew I loved her, in spite of — 
other things. What do you think it is is the matter 
with me, Margaret, that I — [Saying it as if raw] 
miss things. You can tell me. I'd be glad to feel 
some one knew. Only — don't leave me alone while 
you're telling me ! 

Margaret 

I'm afraid I have nothing to tell you, Craig. I 
thought I knew Bernice. And now — I did know 
Bernice ! [Gropingly.] I feel something we don't get 
to. 

Craig 

And Bernice can't help us. 

Margaret 

I think she would expect us to — find our way. She 
could always find her way. She had not meant to 
leave us here. Bernice was so kind. 

Craig 

She was kind. 

Margaret 

Such a sensitive kindness. The kindness that di- 
vined feeling and was there ahead — to meet it. This 
is the very thing she would not do. 



BERNICE 197 

Craig 

[Slowly, as if feeling his zvay.] Margaret, I wish 
I could tell you about me and Bernice. I loved her. 
She loved me. But there was something in her that 
had almost nothing to do with our love. 

Margaret 
Yes. 

Craig 

Well, that isn't right, Margaret. You want to feel 
that you have the woman you love. Yes — completely. 
Yes, every bit of her! 

Margaret 
So you turned to women whom you could have. 

Craig 
Yes. 

Margaret 

But you " had " all of them simply because there 
was less to have. You want no baffling sense of some- 
thing beyond you. [He looks at her reproachfully.] 
You wanted me to help you find the truth. I don't 
believe you can stand truth, Craig. 

Craig 
It's hard tonight. 

Margaret 

[Intensely.] But perhaps it is tonight or not at all. 
It's a strange thing this has done. A light trying 
to find its way through a fog. [In her mind the light 



198 BERNICE 

tries to do this.] Craig, why do you write the things 
you do? 

Craig 
Oh, Margaret, is this any time to talk of work? 

Margaret 

It seems to be. Tonight it's all part of the same 
thing. Laura and I were talking of work — quarrel- 
ing about it: you were talking of Bernice's father. 
The light — just goes there. That poor sad old man 
— why didn't he go on? You said he was a wreck of 
the Darwinian theory. Then me — a wreck of free 
speech. 

Craig 
Oh I didn't mean you were, Margaret. 

Margaret 

But I might be. I can see that. We give ourselves 
in fighting for a thing that seems important and 
in that fight we get out of the flow of life. We had 
meant it to deepen the flow — but we get caught. I 
know people like that. People who get at home in 
their fight — and stay there — and are left there when 
the fight's over ■ — like this old man. How many nights 
Bernice and I have sat in this room and talked of 
things! And I had thought — [With sudden angry 
passion.] If you had been good to her, she would 
be in this room now. [After a look at him.] I'm 
sorry. But can I help feeling it? 

Craig 
I didn't know. 



BERNICE 199 

Margaret 

No ; you didn't know. We don't know. When you 
think what a writer might do for life — for we don't 
know. You write so well, Craig, but — what of it? 
What is it is the matter with you — with all you 
American writers — 'most all of you. A well-put-up 
light — but it doesn't penetrate anything. It never 
makes the fog part. Just shows itself off — a well- 
put-up light. [Growing angry.] It would be better 
if we didn't have you at all! Can't you see that it 
would? Lights which — only light themselves keep 
us from having light — from knowing what the dark- 
ness is. [After thinking.] Craig, as you write these 
things are there never times when you sit there dumb 
and know that you are glib and empty? 

Craig 
Did you ever try to write, Margaret? 

Margaret 
No. 

Craig 

I suppose you think it's very simple to be real. I 
suppose you think we could do it — if we just wanted 
to do it. Try it. You try. 

Margaret 

So you do this just to cover the fact that you can't 
do anything? Your skill — a mask for your lack 
of power? 

Craig 

I should think you'd want to be good to me tonight, 
Margaret. 



200 BERNICE 

Margaret 

Be good to you! Keep you from seeing. That's 
the way we're good to each other. There's only one 
thing I could do for you tonight, Craig. You don't 
want that. So — 

[Moves zs if to rise. 

Craig 

No, don't go away. My brain won't keep still either. 
What I think is just as bad as what you say. Well, 
why do you think it is I — miss things — never get 
anywhere ? 

Margaret 

I don't know. And it's true of all of us. Of me 
too. I do things that to me seem important, and yet 
I just do them — I don't get to the thing I'm doing 
them for — to life itself. I don't simply and pro- 
foundly get to life. Bernice did. 



Yes. Bernice did. 



Craig 



Margaret 



And yet you had to — shy away from Bernice. Into 
a sma'ller world that could be all your world. No, 
Craig, you haven't power. It's true. And for one 
hour in our lives let's try to — Those love affairs of 
yours — they're like your false writing — to keep 
yourself from knowing you haven't power. Did you 
ever see a child try to do a thing — fail — then turn 
to something he could do and make a great show of 
doing that? That's what most of our lives are like. 



BERNICE 201 

Craig 

[Rudely.] Well, why haven't I power ? If you are 
going to be any good to me — tell me that. 

Margaret 

[Shaking her head.] I can't tell you that. I 
haven't any light that — goes there. But isn't it true ? 
Isn't your life this long attempt to appear effective — 
to persuade yourself that you are something? What 
a way to spend the little time there is for living. 

Craig 
I fancy it's the way most lives are spent. 

Margaret 
That only makes it infinitely sadder. 

Craig 

[As if he can stay in this no longer.] As to writ- 
ing, Margaret, the things that interest you wouldn't 
interest most people. 

Margaret 

" Wouldn't interest most people ! " Oh, Craig, don't 
slide away from that one honest moment. Say you 
haven't got it. Don't say they wouldn't want it. 
Why, if now — in this our day — our troubled day of 
many shadows — came a light — a light to reach those 
never lighted places — wouldn't want it ? I wish 
some one could try them! No, Craig, they all have 
their times of suspecting their lives are going by in a 
fog. They're pitifully anxious for a little light. 



202 BERNICE 

Why — they continue to look to writers. You know, 
Craig, what living makes of us — it's a rim — a 
bounded circle — and yet we know — have our times 
of suspecting — that if we could break through thai. 
[Seeing.] O-h. It's like living in the mountains — 
those high vast places of Colorado — in a little house 
with shaded windows. You'd suspect what was there ! 
A little sunshine through the cracks — mountain smells 
— and at times the house would shake — and you'd 
wonder — and be fretted in your little room. And if 
some day you could put up the shade and — see where 
you were. Life would never be so small a thing again. 
Bernice could do that. Her own life did not bound 
her. 

Craig 

No. That was what — 

Margaret 

Hurt your vanity? 

Craig 

I don't know. I'm trying to be honest. I honestly 
don't know. 

Margaret 

No. We don't know. That's why; — oh, Craig, it 
would be so wonderful to be a writer — something 
that gets a little farther than others can get — gets 
at least the edge of the shadow. [After her own 
moment on the edge of the shadow.] If you ever 
felt the shock of reality, and got that back in you — 
you wouldn't be thinking of whom it would " interest " ! 
But, Craig — this. [A movement toward the closed 
room.] Doesn't this give you that shock of reality? 



BERNICE 203 

Craig 

What of you? Doesn't it give it to you? You're 
speaking as if this hadn't happened! You leave it 
out — what Bernice did because of me. You're talk- 
ing of my having no power. What of this? Had 
I no power? [After her look at him.] Oh, yes — 
I know I used it terribly — plenty of years for my 
heart to break over that. But can you say I didn't 
have it? 

Margaret 

I do leave it out. It isn't right there should be 
anything in Bernice not Bernice. And she had a great 
Tightness — Tightness without effort — that rare, rare 
thing. 

Craig 

You say it isn't right — and so you leave it out? 
And then you talk about the shock of reality. 

Margaret 

I don't say it isn't fact. I say it isn't — in the 
rightness. 

Craig 

" In the rightness ! " Is that for you to say ? Is 
rightness what you think? What you can see? No. 
You didn't know Bernice. You didn't know she loved 
me — that way. And I didn't know. But she did! 
How could I have had that — and not known? But 
I did have it! I did have it! You say life broke 
through her — the whole of life. But Bernice didn't 
want — the whole of life. She wanted me. [He goes 
to the door, bows against it, all sorrow and need.] 



204 BERNICE 

I want to talk to her — not you. I want her now — 

knowing. 

[He opens that door and goes in to Ber- 
nice. Margaret stands motionless, 
searching, and as if something is 
coming to her from the rightness. 
When she speaks it is a denial from 
that inner affirmation. 

Margaret 

No ! I say — No ! [Feeling some one behind her, 
swiftly turning she sees Abbie outside, looking through 
the not quite drawn curtains of the door. She goes 
to the door and draws Abbie in.] Yes, I am here — 
and I say no. [She has hold of her, drawing her in 
as she says it.] You understand — I say no. I don't 
believe it. What you told me — / don't believe it. 

Abbie 

[At first it is horror — then strange relief, as if 
nothing could be so bad as this has been.] Well, I'm 
glad you know. 

Margaret 

[Very slowly, knowing now it is fact she has come 
to.] Glad I know what? 

Abbie 
That it isn't true. That she didn't do it. 

Margaret 
Didn't do it ? Did not take her own life ? 

Abbie 
No. Of course she didn't. 



BERNICE 205 

Margaret 

[Still very slowly, as if much more is coming than 
she can take in.] Then why — did you say she did? 

Abbie 

Because she said I must. Oh — look at me ! Look 
at me! But you knew her. You know the strength 
of her. If she'd told you the way she told me — 
you'd have done it too. You would ! 

Margaret 

[Saying each word by itself.] I can not understand 
one word you're saying. Something is wrong with 
you. [Changing, and roughly taking hold of Abbie.] 
Tell me. Quick, the truth. 

Abbie 

Wednesday night, about eight o'clock, about an hour 
after she told me to telegraph you, she said, " Why, 
Abbie, I believe I'm going to die." I said no, but she 
said, " I think so." I said we'd send for Mr. Norris. 
She said no, and not to frighten her father. I — / 
didn't think she was going to die. All the time I was 
trying to get the doctor. There were two hours when 
she was — quiet. Quiet — not like any quiet I ever 
knew. Thinking. You could see thinking in her eyes 
— stronger than sickness. Then, after ten, she called 
me to her. She took my hands. She said, " Abbie, 
you've lived with me all my life." " Yes," I said. 
" You love me." " Oh, yes," I said. " Will you do 
something for me ? " " You know I will," I told her. 
" Abbie," she said, looking right at me, all of her 
looking right at me, " if I die, I want you to tell my 



206 BERNICE 

husband I killed myself." [Margaret falls back.] 
Yes, I did that too. Then I thought it was her mind. 
But I looked at her, and oh, her mind was there ! It 
was terrible — how it was all there. She said — and 
then she [The sobs she has been holding back almost 
keep Abbie from saying this] — held out her hands to 
me — " Oh, Abbie, do this last thing for me ! After 
all there has been, I have a right to do it. If my life is 
going — let me have this much from it ! " And as still 
I couldn't — couldn't — the tears ran down her face 
and she said, " I want to rest before pain comes again. 
Promise me so I can rest." And I promised. And 
you would have too ! 

Margaret 

You don't know what you're telling me ! You don't 
know what you're doing. You do this now — after 
she can do nothing? [Holding out her hands.] 
Abbie! Tell me it isn't true! 

Abbie 
It's true. 

Margaret 

You are telling me her life was hate? [Stops, half 
turns to the room where Craig is with Bernice.] You 
are telling me she covered hate with — with the beauty 
that was like nothing else? Abbie! You are telling 
me that as Bernice left life she held out her hands and 
asked you to take this back for her ? 

Abbie 

There are things we can't understand. There's no 
use trying. 

[She turns to go. 



BERNICE 207 

Margaret 
You can't leave me like thisl 

Abbib 

[More gently.] You shouldn't have tried to know. 
But — if you have got to know things — you have got 
to take them. 

[Craig comes out; Abbie goes. 

Craig 

Go in there, Margaret. There's something won- 
derful there. 

Margaret 

[Turned from him, her face buried in her hands.] 
Oh no — no — no. I can never go in there. I — I 
never was — in there. 

[Her other words are lost in wild sob- 
bing. He stands regarding her in 
wonder, but not losing what he him- 
self has found. 



(Curtain) 



ACT THREE 

Scene: The same as in Acts One and Two; it is 
early afternoon of the next day; the door leading out- 
doors is a little open; when the curtain is drawn Craig 
is seen outside, just passing the window, as one who 
is walking back and forth in thinking. In the room 
are Laura and the Father — the Father sitting at 
the table by the stairs — Laura, standing, watches 
Craig pass the door; she has in her hand a paper on 
which are some memoranda. After watching Craig 
she sighs, looks at her notes, sits down. 

Laura 

I'm sorry to be troubling you, Mr. Allen. Certainly 
you should not be asked to discuss these matters about 
— arrangements. But really, you and I seem the only 
people who are capable of going on with things. I 
must say, I don't know what to make of everyone else. 
They all seem to be trying to — keep away from one. 
I think that's a little unnecessary. Of course I know 
what grief does, and I'm sure I have every considera- 
tion for that, but really — I'm sorry Craig keeps his 
own sister out. When I'm here to help him. And 
Abbie — why she seems to have lost her head. Just 
when it's so important that she look after things. And 
as to Margaret Pierce — she certainly is worse than 
useless. I don't see what she came for if she didn't 
want to be helpful. 

208 



BERNICE 209 

Father 
Margaret and Bernice were very dear friends, Laura. 

Laura 

Is that any reason for not being helpful in Bernice's 
household at a time like this ? Really I do like control. 
[After looking at her notes.] Then the minister will 
come here at three, Mr. Allen. Why that will be little 
more than an hour ! Think of things having been neg- 
lected like this ! [As Craig, having turned in his walk, 
is again passing the door.] Craig! [He steps to the 
door.] The minister, Mr. Howe, will come here, 
Craig, at three. 

Craig 
What for? 

Laura 
Craig! -What for? 

Craig 

I don't see why he comes here. Why Bernice 
scarcely knew him. [To her father.] Did Bernice 
know him ? 

Father 
Well, I don't know whether she knew him, but — 

Laura 
It is not a personal matter, Craig. 

Craig 
I think it is. Very personal. 



210 BERNICE 

Laura 

You mean to say you are not going to have any 
service? 

Craig 

I haven't thought anything about it. Oh, Laura! 
How can I think of such things now ? 

Laura 
Well, I will think of them for you, dear. 

Craig 

Don't bring him here. He can go — [Stops] there, 
if he wants to. Where — we have to go. Not here. 
In her own house. The very last thing. 

Father 
I'm afraid it will seem strange, Craig. 

Craig 

Strange? Do I care if it seems strange? Bernice 
seemed strange too. But she wasn't strange. She 
was wonderful. [Putting out his hand impatiently.] 
Oh, no, Laura. There's so much else to think of — 
now. 

[He steps out of the door and stands 
there, his back to the room. 

Father 

[In a low voice.] I wonder — could we go some- 
where else? Into my room, perhaps. I'm afraid we 
are keeping Craig out of here. And I think he wants 



BERNICE 211 

to be here — near Bernice. We will be undisturbed 
in my room. 

[He gets up and goes to the door of his 
room, Laura turns to follow. 
Outside Craig passes from sight. 

Laura 

I think it's too bad things have to be made so — 
complicated. 

Father 

[After opening the door.] Oh, Margaret is in here. 

Margaret 

[From the other room.] I was just going out. I 
just came in here to — [Enters.] I just went in 
there — I didn't think about it being your room. 

Father 

Why that was quite all right, Margaret. I'm only 
sorry to disturb you. 

Margaret 

No. That doesn't matter. I — wasn't doing any- 
thing. 

Laura 

There is a great deal to do. 

[She follows the Father into his room. 
Margaret walks across the room, 
walks back, stands still, head bent, 
hands pressing her temples. Abbie 
comes part way down the stairs, sees 
Margaret, stands still as if not to 
be heard, turns to go back upstairs. 



212 BERNICE 

Margaret 

[Hearing her, looking up.] Abbie! [Abbie comes 
slowly down.] Where is he, Mr. Norris? Where is 
he? 

Abbie 

I don't know. He was here a little while ago. Per- 
haps he went out. 

[Indicating the open door. 

Margaret 

I have to tell him ! 

Abbie 

[After an incredulous moment.] Tell him what you 
made me tell you? 

Margaret 

Of course I have to tell him! You think I can 
leave that on him? And the things I said to him — 
they were not just. 

Abbie 

And you'd rather be " just " than leave it as she 
wanted it? 

Margaret 

Oh, but Abbie — what she wanted — [Holds up her 
hand as if to shut something from her eyes.] No. 
You can't put that on anyone. I couldn't live — 
feeling I had left on him what shouldn't be there. 

Abbie 
But you wouldn't tell him now? 



BERNICE 213 

Margaret 

I must tell him now. Or I won't tell him. And 
I must go away. I can't stay. I can't stay here. 

Abbie 

But what will they think — your leaving? You 
mean — before we've taken her away? 

Margaret 

Oh, I don't know. How can I — plan it out ? I'm 
going as soon as I can tell him. All night — all day 
— I've been trying to tell him — and when I get near 
him — I run away. Why did you tell me? 

Abbie 

[Harshly.] Why did you know — what you weren't 
to know? But if you have some way of knowing 
what you aren't told — you think you have the right 
to do your thing with that? Undo what she did? 
What / did ? Do you know what it took out of me to 
do this? There's nothing left of me. 

Margaret 

[With a laugh. Right on the verge of being not 
herself.] No. You're a wreck. Another wreck. 
It's your Darwinian theory. Your free speech. 

Abbie 

Oh, I was afraid of you. I didn't want you to 
come. I knew you'd — get to things. 

[Abbie goes to the door and looks out. 



214 BERNICE 

Margaret 
He is out there? 

Abbie 
Yes. 

[Margaret tries to go; moves just a little.] And 
you'd go to him and — what for? 

Margaret 

Because I can't live — leaving that on him — having 
him think — when I know he didn't. I can't leave that 
on him one more hour. 

Abbie 

[Standing in the door to block her going.] And 
when you take that from him — what do you give to 
him? 

[They stare at one another; Margaret 
falls back. 

Margaret 

Don't ask me to see so many things, Abbie. I can 
only see this thing. I've grown afraid of seeing. 

Abbie 

[After looking at her, seeing something of her suf- 
fering.] Miss Margaret, why did you do what you 
did last night? How did you know? 

Margaret 
I don't know. 

Abbie 
But you knew. 



BERNICE 215 

Margaret 

No. I didn't know. I didn't know. It didn't come 
from me. It came — from the Tightness. 

[A laugh. 
Abbie 

If you could get that without being told — why don't 
you get more without being told? [Margaret gives 
her a startled look.] For you will never be told. 

Margaret 
You know more? 

Abbie 

No. My knowing stops with what you got from me 
last night. But I knew her. I thought maybe, as you 
have some way of knowing what you aren't told, you 
could — see into this. See. 

Margaret 

I've lost my seeing. It was through her I saw. It 
was through Bernice I could see. And now it's dark. 
[Slowly turning toward the closed room.] Oh, how 
still death is. 

[The two women are as if caught into 
this stillness. 

Abbie 

[Looking from the door.] He turned this way. 
[Swiftly turning back to Margaret.] But you 
couldn't tell him. 

Margaret 

No, I can't. Yes, I must ! I tell you there's some- 
thing in me can't stand it to see any one go down under 



216 BERNICE 

a thing he shouldn't have to bear. Why that feeling 
has made my life ! Do you think I've wanted to do the 
kind of work I do? Don't you think I'd like to be 
doing — happier things ? But there's something in my 
blood drives me to — what's right. 

Abbie 

And something in my blood drives me to what's 
right! And I went against it — went against my 
whole life — so she could rest. I did it because I 
loved her. But you didn't love her. 

Margaret 
Oh — Abbie! 

Abbie 

Not as you love — what's right. If you loved her, 
don't you want to protect her — now that she lies dead 
in there? [Her voice breaking.] Oh, Miss Margaret, 
it was right at the very end of her life. Maybe when 
we're going to die things we've borne all our lives are 
things we can't bear -any longer. Just — don't count 
that last hour. 

Margaret 

[After a moment of being swayed by this.] Yet 
you counted it, Abbie. You did what she said — 
because of the strength of her. You told me last 
night — her mind was there. Terrible the way it was 
right there. She hadn't left her life. 

Abbie 

Well, and if she hadn't left her life ! If all those 
years with him there was something she hid, and if 



BERNICE 217 

she seemed to feel — what she didn't feel. She did 
it well, didn't she? — and almost to the last. Shan't 
we hide it now? For her? You and me, who loved 
her — isn't she safe — with us? [Going nearer Mar- 
garet.] Perhaps if you would go in there now — 

Margaret 
Oh no — no. 

Abbie 

[In a last deeply emotional appeal.] Miss Margaret, 
didn't she do a good deal for you ? 

Margaret 
Do a good deal for me ? Yes. Yes ! 

Abbie 

Yes. She did for me. I — I'm something more 
on account of her. Aren't you? 

Margaret 
Yes. 

Abbie 

Yes, I think you are too. I can see myself as I'd 
have been if my life hadn't been lived round her. 
[Thinks, shakes her head.] It would be left you — 
what feels and knows it feels. And you said it was 
through Bernice you could see. Well, lets forget what 
we don't want to know ! On account of what we are 
that we wouldn't have been — lets put it out of our 
minds ! One ugly thing in a whole beautiful life ! Let 
it go ! And let all the rest live ! [ They can see Craig 
outside.] Oh — do this for her. Make yourself do 



218 BERNICE 

it. Let that be what's dead — and let all the rest live ! 

You were her friend not his. 

[Craig turns to the house, but when 
about to come in, turns away, cover- 
ing his face. 

Margaret 

[Taking hold of Abbie.] You see? He thinks she 
loved him and he killed her. He might do what he 
thinks she did ! 

Abbie 

[Falling back.] O-h. 

[Craig comes in, stands by the door; 
Margaret has drawn Abbie over 
near the stairway. He sees them, 
but gives no heed to them, immersed 
in what he is living through. 
While he stands there Margaret 
does not move. He turns toward 
the room where Bernice is; when he 
moves Margaret goes a little to- 
ward him — his back is to her; 
Abbie moves to step between Craig 
and Margaret ; Margaret puts her 
aside. But when Craig comes to 
the closed door, and stands there an 
instant before it, not opening it, 
Margaret too stops, as if she can- 
not come nearer him. It is only 
after he has opened the door and 
closed it behind him that she goes to 
it. She puts out her hands, but she 
does not even touch the door and 
when she cannot do this she covers 
her face and, head bent, stands there 



BERNICE 219 

before the closed door. Laura and 
the Father come out from the room 
where they have been. As they 
enter Abbie slowly goes out, toward 
the kitchen. 

Laura 

[After looking at Margaret, who has not moved.] 
We are going in an hour, Margaret. 

Margaret 
Going? 

Laura 

Taking Berniee to the cemetery. 

Margaret 
Oh. Are we? 

[After a look which shows her disap- 
proval Laura goes out, following 
Abbie. 

Father 
[Sitting.] I can't believe that, Margaret. 

Margaret 

No. [Margaret sits in the window seat, by which 
she has been standing. As if she is just realising 
what they have said.] You say — we are taking Ber- 
nice away from here — in an hour ? 

Father 

Yes. Think of it, Margaret. I just can't — take 
it in. 



220 , BERNICE 

Margaret 
No. 

Father 

There is something I want to tell you, Margaret. 
[Margaret gives him a quick look, then turns away, 
as if afraid.'] I've been wanting to tell you — but 
it's hard to talk of such things. But before we — 
take Bernice away, before you — see her the last 
time — I want you to know. That night — the night 
Bernice died — at the very last, Abbie was afraid then 
— and had called to me. Abbie and I were in there 
and — Abbie went out, about the telephone call we 
had in for the doctor. I was all alone in there a few 
minutes — right at the last. Bernice said one last 
word, Margaret. Your name. 

Margaret 

She called to me? 

Father 

No, I wouldn't say she called to you. Just said 
your name. The way we say things to ourselves — say 
them without knowing we were Agoing to say them. 
She didn't really say it. She breathed it. It seemed 
to come from her whole life. 

Margaret 

O-h. Then it wasn't as if she had left me? It 
wasn't as if anything was in between — 

Father 

Why no, Margaret. What an idea. Why I don't 
think you ever were as close to Bernice as when she 
said your name and died. 



BERNICE 221 

[Margaret's head goes down; she is 
crying. Craig comes out, carefully 
closing the door behind him. Partly 
crosses the room, looks uncertainly 
at the outer door as if to go outside 
again. 

Father 

Sit down, Craig. [Craig does this.] Let's not try- 
to keep away from each other now. We're all going 
through the same thing — in our — our different ways. 
[A pause. Margaret raises her head; she is turned 
a little away from the other two.] I was so glad when 
you came, Margaret. I don't want Bernice to slip 
away from us. In an hour we — take her away from 
here — out of this house she loved. I don't want her 
to slip away from us. She loved you so, Margaret. 
Didn't she, Craig? 

Craig 

Yes. She did love Margaret. — 

(dSfcb'ATHER 

I W 
Oh, yes. " Margaret sees things," she'd say. 

[ Wistfully.] She had great beauty — didn't she, Mar- 
garet ? 

Margaret 

I always thought so. 

Father 

Oh, yes. I was thinking last night — malice was 
not in Bernice. I never knew her to do a — really 
unfriendly thing to any one. [Again in that wistful 
way.] You know, Margaret, I had thought you would 



222 BERNICE 

say things like this — and better than I can say them, 
to — to keep my little girl for us all. I suppose I'm 
a foolish old man but I seem to want them said. 
[Pause. Margaret seems to try to speak, but does 
not.] I think it was gentle of Bernice to be amused 
by things she — perhaps couldn't admire in us she 
loved. Me. I suppose she might have liked a father 
who amounted to more — but she always seemed to 
take pleasure in me. Affectionate amusement. Didn't 
you feel that in Bernice, Craig? 

Craig 

Yes — that was one thing. A surface for other 
things. [He speaks out of pain, but out of pain which 
wants, if it can, to speak.] But only a surface. [With 
passion.] All of Bernice went into her love for me. 
Those big impersonal things — they were not apart. 
All of Bernice — loved me. [His voice breaks, he 
goes to the door, starts out. Suddenly steps back 
— with a quick rough iurrt to her.] Isn't that so, 
Margaret ? 



Margare^' '«H*m 
I can see — what you mean, Craig. 

Father 

Why of course Bernice loved you. I know that. 

[Craig goes outside. 

[Looking after him.] I hope I didn't send Craig 
away. You and he would rather not talk. Perhaps 
that is better. I seem to want to — gather up things 
that will keep Bernice. It's so easy for the dead to 
slip from us. But I mustn't bother you. 



BERNICE 223 

Margaret 

Oh, you aren't! I — I'm sorry I'm not — doing 
more. I'm pulled down. 

Father 

I know, Margaret. I can see that. Another time 
you and I will talk of Bernice. I didn't mean she 
didn't love Craig. Of course not. Only [Hesitat- 
ingly] I did feel that much as went into her loving 
— there was more than went into her loving. 

Margaret 
Yes. 

Father 

I think it wasn't that she — wanted it that way. 
You know, Margaret, I felt something — very witsful 
in Bernice. [Margaret looks at him, nods.] In this 
calm now — I feel the wistfulness there was in her 
other calm. 

Margaret 
Yes. 

Father 

As if she wanted to give us more. Oh — she gave 
more than any one else could have given. But not 
all she was. And she would like to have given us — 
all she was. She wanted to give — what couldn't be 
given. [Pause.] You know what I mean, Margaret ? 

Margaret 
Yes, I do know. 

Father 

And so — wistfulness. I see it now. [After think- 
ing.] I think Bernice feared she was not a very good 



224 BERNICE 

wife for Craig. [Margaret gives him^ a startled 
look.] Little things she'd say. I don't know — per- 
haps I'm wrong. [After a move of Margaret's.] 
You were going to say something, Margaret. 

Margaret 
No. I was just thinking of what you said. 

Father 

Craig didn't dominate Bernice. I don't know whose 
fault it was. I don't know that it was anyone's fault. 
Just the way things were. He — I say it in all kind- 
ness, he just didn't — have it in him. [Slowly.] As 
I haven't had certain things in me. 

[Abbie comes in. 

Abbie 

People are coming. The Aldrichs — other neigh- 
bors. 

Father 

Oh — they are coming? [With pain.] Already? 
Oh. They are to wait in the south room — till a little 
later. I'll speak to them. 

[They go out; Margaret has a moment 
alone. Then Craig comes in from 
outside. 

Craig 

People are beginning to come. I suppose they'll 
come in here soon. I — I don't want them to. 

[Laura enters with boxes of flowers. 
Oh — Laura, please. Bernice loved flowers. 



Well — Craig. 



BERNICE 225 

Laura 

Craig 



Would you take them around the other way? Or 
keep them till later — or something. I don't want 
them here ! 

[Laura goes out. 
Craig 

I don't want things to be different. Not now — 
in the last hour. It's still Bernice's house. [After 
watching her a moment.'] Margaret, I'm afraid I 
shouldn't have told you. It's doing too much to you. 
Surely — no matter what you feel about me — this — 
what I told you — isn't going to keep you away from 
Bernice ? 

Margaret 

No, Craig. What you told me — isn't going to do 
that. 

Craig 

I shouldn't have told you. But there are things 
— too much to be alone with. And yet — we are 
alone with them. [He is seated, looking out toward 
the woods. Very slowly — with deep feeling.'] It is 
a different world. Life will never be — that old thing 
again. 

Margaret 

[Rising.] Craig! [He looks at her.] Craig, I 
must tell you — 

[She does not go on. 

Craig 

[After waiting an instant, looks away.] I know. 



226 BERNICE 

We can't say things. When we get right to life — 
we can't say things. 

Margaret 

But I must say them. I have to tell you — life need 
not be a different thing. 

Craig 

Need not? You think I want that old thing back? 
Pretending. Fumbling. Always trying to seem some- 
thing — to feel myself something. No. That's a 
strange thing for you to say, Margaret — that I can 
go back to my" make-believe, now that I've got to 
life. This — [As if he cannot speak of it] this — 
even more than it makes me want to die it makes me 
want to — Oh, Margaret, if I could have Bernice 
now — knowing. And yet — I never had her until 
now. This — has given Bernice to me. 

Margaret 

[As if his words are a light she is almost afraid to 
use.] This — has given Bernice to you? 

Craig ~ 

I was thinking — walking out there I was thinking, 
if I knew only — what I knew when I came here — 
that Bernice was dead — I wonder if I could have 
got past that failure. 

Margaret 
Failure, Craig? 

Craig 
Of never having had her. That she had lived, 



BERNICE 227 

and loved me — loved me, you see — lived and loved 
me and died without my ever having had her. What 
would there have been to go on living for? Why 
should such a person go on living? Now — of course 
it is another world. This comes crashing through my 
make-believe — and Bernice's world get to me. Don't 
you see, Margaret? 

Margaret 



Perhaps — I do. [She looks at the closed door; 
looks back to him. Waits.] O-h. [Waits again, and 
it grows in her.] Perhaps I do. 

[Turns and very slowly goes to the closed 
door, opens it, goes in. At the other 
side of the room Abbie comes in 
with a floral piece. 

Craig 

No, Abbie. I just told my sister — I don't want 
this room to be different. [Looking around.] It is 
different. What have you done to it? 

[He sees the pillow crowded in at the 
side of the fireplace. Restores it to 
its place in the window. 

Abbie 
And this was here. 

[She returns the vase to its place. 

Craig 

Of course it was. But it isn't right yet. [After 
considering.] Why — the tea table! [Abbie turns 
toward the kitchen.] What did you put it out there 
for? I remember now — I stumbled against it last 



228 BERNICE 

night. [They bring it in.] Why, yes, Abbie, the tea- 
table was always here — before the fire. 



And 



Abbie 

[She hesitates, but Craig follows her 
eyes to the chair. 

Craig 

Yes. [He too hesitates; then gives the chair its old 
place before the table, as if awaiting the one who wilt 
come and pour tea. A moment they stand looking at 
it. Then Craig looks around the room.] And what 
is it is still wrong, Abbie? 

Abbie 

In the fall there were always branches in that vase. 
[Indicating the one she has returned to its place.] 
The red and yellow branches from outside. 



Yes. 



Craig 

[He goes out. With feeling which she 
cannot quite control Abbie does a 
few little things at the tea-table, re- 
lating one thing to another until it 
is as it used to be. Margaret 
comes out from the room where she 
has been with Bernice, leaving the 
door wide open behind her. With 
the quiet of profound wonder; in a 
feeling that creates the great still- 
ness, she goes to Abbie. 



BERNICE 229 

Margaret 

Oh — Abbie. Yes — I know now. I want you 
to know. Only — there are things not for words. 
Feeling — not for words. As a throbbing thing that 
flies and sings — not for the hand. [She starts to 
close her hand, uncloses it.] But, Abbie — there is 
nothing to hide. There is no shameful thing. What 
you saw in her eyes as she brooded over life in leav- 
ing it — what made you afraid — was her seeing — 
her seeing into the shadowed places of the life she 
was leaving. And then — a gift to the spirit. A 
gift sent back through the dark. Preposterous. Pro- 
found. Oh — love her Abbie! She's worth more 
love than we have power to give! [Craig has come 
back with some branches from the trees; he stands 
outside the door a moment, taking out a few he does 
not want. Margaret hears him and turns. Then 
turns back.] Power. Oh, how strange. 

[Craig comes in, and Margaret and 
Abbie watch him as he puts the 
bright leaves in the vase. The 
Father comes in. 

Father 

The man who is in charge says we will have to be 
ready now to — [Seeing what has been done to the 
room.] Oh, you have given the room back to Bernice! 

Margaret 

Given everything back to Bernice. Bernice. In- 
sight. The tenderness of insight. And the courage. 
[To the Father, and suddenly with tears in her voice.] 
She was wistful. And held out her hands [Doing 



230 BERNICE 

this] with gifts she was not afraid to send back. 
[Very simply.] She loved you, Craig. 

Craig 
I know that, Margaret. I know now how much. 

Margaret 

[Low.] And more than that. [Her voice electric] 
Oh, in all the world — since first life moved — has 
there been any beauty like the beauty of perceiving 
love? . . . No. Not for words. 

[She closes her hand, uncloses it in a 
slight gesture of freeing what she 
would not harm. 



Curtain 



SUPPRESSED DESIRES 

A COMEDY IN TWO SCENES 

(In Collaboration with George Cram Cook) 

First Performed by the Provincetown Players, at the 

Wharf Theatre, Provincetown, Mass., 

August, 1 9 14 



ORIGINAL CAST 

Henrietta Brewster .... Susan Glaspell 
Stephen Brewster .... George Cram Cook 
Mabel . .- . . Mary Pyne 



SUPPRESSED DESIRES 

Scene I : A studio apartment in an upper story, 
Washington Square South. Through an immense 
north window in the back wall appear tree tops and 
the upper part of the Washington Arch. Beyond it 
you look up Fifth Avenue. Near the window is a 
big table, loaded at one end zvith serious-looking books 
and austere scientific periodicals. At the other end 
are architect's drawings, blue prints, dividing com- 
passes, square, ruler, etc. At the left is a door leading 
to the jest of the apartment; at the right the outer 
door. ' A breakfast table is set for three, but only 
two are seated at it — Henrietta and Stephen 
Brewster. As the curtains withdraw Steve pushes 
back his coffee cup and sits dejected. 

Henrietta 

It isn't the coffee, Steve dear. There's nothing the 
matter with the coffee. There's something the matter 
with you. 

Steve 

[Doggedly.] There may be something the matter 
with my stomach. 

Henrietta 

[Scornfully.] Your stomach! The trouble is not 
with your stomach but in your subconscious mind. 

Steve 
Subconscious piffle ! 

[Takes morning paper and tries to read. 
233 



234 SUPPRESSED DESIRES 

Henrietta 

Steve, you never used to be so disagreeable. You 
certainly have got some sort of a complex. You're all 
inhibited. You're no longer open to new ideas. You 
won't listen to a word about psychoanalysis. 

Steve 
A word ! I've listened to volumes ! 

Henrietta 

You've ceased to be creative in architecture — your 
work isn't going well. You're not sleeping well — 

Steve 

How can I sleep, Henrietta, when you're always 
waking me up to find out what I'm dreaming? 

Henrietta 

But dreams are so important, Steve. If you'd tell 
yours to Dr. Russell he'd find out exactly what's wrong 
with you. 

Steve 

There's nothing wrong with me. 

Henrietta 
You don't even talk as well as you used to. 

Steve 

Talk? I can't say a thing without you looking at 
me in that dark fashion you have when you're on 
the trail of a complex. 



SUPPRESSED DESIRES 235 

Henrietta 

This very irritability indicates that you're suffering 
from some suppressed desire. 

Steve 

I'm suffering from a suppressed desire for a little 
peace. 

Henrietta 

Dr. Russell is doing simply wonderful things with 
nervous cases. Won't you go to him, Steve? 

Steve 

[Slamming down his newspaper.] No, Henrietta, 
I won't! 

Henrietta 
But, Stephen — ! 

Steve 

Tst! I hear Mabel coming. Let's not be at each 
other's throats the first day of her visit. 

[He takes out cigarettes. Mabel comes 
in from door left, the side opposite 
Steve, so that he is facing her. She 
is wearing a rather fussy negligee 
in contrast to Henrietta, who 
wears " radical " clothes. Mabel is 
what is called plump. 

Mabel 
Good morning. 

Henrietta 
Oh, here you are, little sister. 



236 SUPPRESSED DESIRES 

Steve 

Good morning, Mabel. 

[Mabel nods to him and turns, her face 
lighting up, to Henrietta. 

Henrietta 

[Giving Mabel a hug as she leans against her.] It's 
so good to have you here. I was going to let you 
sleep, thinking you'd be tired after the long trip. Sit 
down. There'll be fresh toast in a minute and 
[Rising] will you have — 

Mabel 

Oh, I ought to have told you, Henrietta. Don't 
get anything for me. I'm not eating breakfast. 

Henrietta 

[At first in mere surprise.] Not eating breakfast? 
[She sits down, then leans toward Mabel 
who is seated now, and scrutinizes 
her. 

Steve 
[Half to himself.] The psychoanalytical look! 

Henrietta 
Mabel, why are you not eating breakfast? 

Mabel 

[A little startled.] Why, no particular reason. I 
just don't care much for breakfast, and they say it 
keeps down — [A hand on her hip — the gesture of one 



SUPPRESSED DESIRES 237 

who is "reducing"] that is, it's a good thing to go 
without it. 

Henrietta 

Don't you sleep well ? Did you sleep well last night ? 

Mabel 

Oh, yes, I slept all right. Yes, I slept fine last 
night, only [Laughing] I did have the funniest dream ! 

Steve 
S-h! S-t! 

Henrietta 

[Moving closer.] And what did you dream, Mabel? 

Steve 

Look-a-here, Mabel, I feel it's my duty to put you 
on. Don't tell Henrietta your dreams. If you do 
she'll find out that you have an underground desire to 
kill your father and marry your mother — 

Henrietta 

Don't be absurd, Stephen Brewster. [Sweetly to 
Mabel.] What was your dream, dear? 

Mabel 
[Laughing.] Well, I dreamed I was a hen. 

Henrietta 
A hen? 

Mabel 

Yes; and I was pushing along through a crowd as 
fast as I could, but being a hen I couldn't walk very 



238 SUPPRESSED DESIRES 

fast — it was like having a tight skirt, you know ; and 
there was some sort of creature in a blue cap — you 
know how mixed up dreams are — and it kept shouting 
after me, " Step, Hen ! Step, Hen ! " until I got all 
excited and just couldn't move at all. 

Henrietta 

[Resting chin in palm and peering.] You say you 
became much excited? 

Mabel 
[Laughing.] Oh, yes; I was in a terrible state. 

Henrietta 
[Leaning back, murmurs.] This is significant. 

Steve 

She dreams she's a hen. She is told to step lively. 
She becomes violently agitated. What can it mean ? 

Henrietta 

[Turning impatiently from him.] Mabel, do you 
know anything about psychoanalysis? 

Mabel 

[Feebly.] Oh — not much. No — I — [Brighten- 
ing.] It's something about the war, isn't it? 

Steve 
Not that kind of war. 

Mabel 

[Abashed.] I thought it might be the name of a 
new explosive. 



SUPPRESSED DESIRES 239 

Steve 
It is. 

Mabel 

[Apologetically to Henrietta, who is frowning.] 
You see, Henrietta, I — we do not live in touch with 
intellectual things, as you do. Bob being a dentist — 
somehow our friends — 

. Steve 

[Softly.] Oh, to be a dentist! 

[Goes to window and stands looking out. 

Henrietta 

Don't you see anything more of that editorial writer 
— what was his name? 

Mabel 
Lyman Eggleston? 

Henrietta 

Yes, Eggleston. He was in touch with things. 
Don't you see him? 

Mabel 

Yes, I see him once in a while. Bob doesn't like 
him very well. 

Henrietta 

Your husband does not like Lyman Eggleston? 
[Mysteriously.] Mabel, are you perfectly happy with 
your husband? 

Steve 

[Sharply.] Oh, come now, Henrietta — that's going 
a little strong! 



240 SUPPRESSED DESIRES 

Henrietta 

Are you perfectly happy with him, Mabel ? 

[Steve goes to work-table. 

Mabel 

Why — yes — I guess so. Why — of course I am ! 

Henrietta 

Are you happy? Or do you only think you are? 
Or do you only think you ought to be? 

Mabel 
Why, Henrietta, I don't know what you mean! 

Steve 

[Seizes stack of books and magazines and dumps 
them on the breakfast table.] This is what she means, 
Mabel. Psychoanalysis. My work-table groans with 
it. Books by Freud, the new Messiah ; books by Jung, 
the new St. Paul ; the Psychoanalytical Review — 
back numbers two-fifty per. 

Mabel ' 

But what's it all about? 

Steve 

All about your sub-un-non-conscious mind and de- 
sires you know not of. They may be doing you a great 
deal of harm. You may go crazy with them. Oh, 
yes ! People are doing it right and left. Your dream- 
ing you're a hen — 

[Shakes his head darkly. 



SUPPRESSED DESIRES 241 

Henrietta 
Any fool can ridicule anything. 

Mabel 

[Hastily, to avert a quarrel.] But what do you 
say it is, Henrietta? 

Steve 

[Looking at his watch.] Oh, if Henrietta's going 
to start that! 

[During Henrietta's next speech settles 
himself at work-table and sharpens 
a lead pencil. 

Henrietta 

It's like this, Mabel. You want something. You 
think you can't have it. You think it's wrong. So 
you try to think you don't want it. Your mind pro- 
tects you — avoids pain — by refusing to think the 
forbidden thing. But it's there just the same. It 
stays there shut up in your unconscious mind, and it 
festers. 

Steve 
Sort of an ingrowing mental toenail. 

Henrietta 
#- 
Precisely. The forbidden impulse is there full of 
energy which has simply got to do something. It 
breaks into your consciousness in disguise, masks itself 
in dreams, makes all sorts of trouble. In extreme 
cases it drives you insane. 



242 SUPPRESSED DESIRES 

Mabel 
[With a gesture of horror.] Oh! 

Henrietta 

[Reassuring.] But psychoanalysis has found out 
how to save us from that. It brings into conscious- 
ness the suppressed desire that was making all the 
trouble. Psychoanalysis is simply the latest scientific 
method of preventing and curing insanity. 

Steve 

[From his table.] It is also the latest scientific 
method of separating families. 

Henrietta 
[Mildly.] Families that ought to be separated. 

Steve 

The Dwights, for instance. You must have met 
them, Mabel, when you were here before. Helen was 
living, apparently, in peace and happiness with good 
old Joe. Well — she went to this psychoanalyzer — 
she was " psyched," and biff ! — bang ! — home she 
comes with an unsuppressed desire to leave her hus- 
band. 

[He starts work, drawing lines on a 
drawing board with a T-square. 

Mabel 

How terrible! Yes, I remember Helen Dwight. 
But — but did she have such a desire ? 

Steve 
First she'd known of it. 



SUPPRESSED DESIRES 243 

Mabel 
And she left him ? 

Henrietta 
[Coolly.'] Yes, she did. 

Mabel 
Wasn't he kind to her? 

Henrietta 
Why yes, good enough. 

Mabel 
Wasn't he kind to her. 

" Henrietta 
Oh, yes — kind to her. 

Mabel 
And she left her good kind husband — ! 

Henrietta . 

Oh, Mabel! "Left her good, kind husband!" 
How naive — forgive me, dear, but how bourgeoise 
you are! She came to know herself. And she had 
the courage! 

Mabel 

I may be very naive and — bourgeoise — but I don't 
see the good of a new science that breaks up homes. 

[Steve applauds. 
Steve 

In enlightening Mabel, we mustn't neglect to men- 



244 SUPPRESSED DESIRES 

tion the case of Art Holden's private secretary, Mary 
Snow, who has just been informed of her suppressed 
desire for her employer. 

Mabel 

Why, I think it is terrible, Henrietta! It would 
be better if we didn't know such things about our- 
selves. 

Henrietta 

No, Mabel, that is the old way. 

Mabel 

But — but her employer? Is he married? 

Steve 
[Grunts.] Wife and four children. 

Mabel 

Well, then, what good does it do the girl to be told 
she has a desire for him? There's nothing can be 
done about it. 

Henrietta 

Old institutions will have to be reshaped so that 
something can be done in such cases. It happens, 
Mabel, that this suppressed desire was on the point of 
landing Mary Snow in the insane asylum. Are you 
so tight-minded that you'd rather have her in the 
insane asylum than break the conventions? 

Mabel 

But — but have people always had these aw'ful sup- 
pressed desires? 



SUPPRESSED DESIRES 245 

Henrietta 
Always. 

Steve 

But they've just been discovered, 

Henrietta 

The harm they do has just been discovered. And 
free, sane people must face the fact that they have 
to be dealt with. 

Mabel 

[Stoutly.] I don't believe they have them in Chi- 
cago. 

Henrietta 

[Business of giving Mabel up.] People " have 
them " wherever the living Libido — the center of the 
soul's energy — is in conflict with petrified moral codes. 
That means everywhere in civilization. Psychoanal- 
ysis — 

Steve 

Good God! I've got the roof in the cellar! 

Henrietta 
The roof in the cellar ! 

Steve 

[Holding plan at arm's length.] That's what psy- 
choanalysis does! 

Henrietta 

That's what psychoanalysis could un-do. Is it any 
wonder I'm concerned about Steve? He dreamed the 
other night that the walls of his room melted away 



246 SUPPRESSED DESIRES 

and he found himself alone in a forest. Don't you 
see how significant it is for an architect to have walls 
slip away from him ? It symbolizes his loss of grip in 
his work. There's some suppressed desire — 

Steve 

[Hurling his ruined plan viciously to the floor.] 
Suppressed hell ! 

Henrietta 

You speak more truly than you know. It is through 
suppressions that hells are formed in us. 

Mabel 

[Looking at Steve, who is tearing his hair.] Don't 
you think it would be a good thing, Henrietta, if we 
went somewhere else? [They rise and begin to pick 
up the dishes. Mabel drops a plate which breaks. 
Henrietta draws up short and looks at her — the 
psychoanalytic look.] I'm sorry, Henrietta. One of 
the Spode plates, too. [Surprised and resentful as 
Henrietta continues to peer at her.] Don't take it 
so to heart, Henrietta. 

Henrietta 
I can't help taking it to heart. 

Mabel 

I'll get you another. [Pause. More sharply as 
Henrietta does not answer.] I said I'll get you an- 
other plate, Henrietta. 

Henrietta 
It's not the plate. 



SUPPRESSED DESIRES 247 

Mabel 
For heaven's sake, what is it then? 

Henrietta 

It's the significant little false movement that made 
you drop it. 

Mabel 

Well, I suppose everyone makes a false movement 
once in a while. 

Henrietta 

Yes, Mabel, but these false movements all mean 
something. 

Mabel 

[About to cry.] I don't think that's very nice! 
It was just because I happened to think of that Mabel 
Snow you were talking about — 

Henrietta 
Mabel Snow! 

Mabel 

Snow — Snow — well, what was her name, then ? 

Henrietta 

Her name is Mary. You substituted your own name 
for hers. 

Mabel 

Well, Mary Snow, then; Mary Snow. I never 
heard her name but once. I don't see anything to 
make such a fuss about. 



248 SUPPRESSED DESIRES 

Henrietta 

[Gently.] Mabel dear — mistakes like that in 
names — 

Mabel 

[Desperately.] They don't mean something, too, do 
they? 

Henrietta 

[Gently.] I am sorry, dear, but they do. 

Mabel 
But I'm always doing that! 

Henrietta 

[After a start of horror.] My poor little sister, tell 
me about it. 

Mabel 
About what? 

Henrietta 

About your not being happy. About your longing 
for another sort of life. 

Mabel 
But I don't. 

Henrietta 

Ah, I understand these things, dear. You feel Bob 
is limiting you to a life in which you do not feel free — 

Mabel 
Henrietta ! When did I ever say such a thing ? 

Henrietta 

You said you are not in touch with things intellect- 
ual. You showed your feeling that it is Bob's pro- 



SUPPRESSED DESIRES 249 

f ession — that has engendered a resentment which has 
colored your whole life with him. 

Mabel 
Why — Henrietta ! 

Henrietta 

Don't be afraid of me, little sister. There's nothing" 
can shock me or turn me from you. I am not like that. 
I wanted you to come for this visit because I had a 
feeling that you needed more from life than you were 
getting. No one of these things I have seen would 
excite my suspicion. It's the combination. You don't 
eat breakfast [Enumerating on her fingers] ; you 
make false moves ; you substitute your own name for 
the name of another whose love is misdirected. You're 
nervous ; you look queer ; in your eyes there's a fright- 
ened look that is. most unlike you. And this dream. 
A hen. Come with me this afternoon to Dr. Russell ! 
Your whole life may be at stake, Mabel. 

Mabel 

[Gasping.] Henrietta, I — you — you always were 
the smartest in the family, and all that, but- — this is 
terrible ! I don't think we ought to think such things. 
[Brightening.] Why, I'll tell you why I dreamed I 
was a hen. It was because last night, telling about 
that time in Chicago, you said I was as mad as a wet 
hen. 

Henrietta 

[Superior.] Did you dream you were a wet hen? 

Mabel 
[Forced to admit it.] No. 



250 SUPPRESSED DESIRES 

Henrietta 

No. You dreamed you were a dry hen. And why, 
being a hen, were you urged to step ? 

Mabel 

Maybe it's because when I am getting on a street 
car it always irritates me to have them call " Step 
lively." 

Henrietta 

No, Mabel, that is only a child's view of it — if 
you will forgive me. You see merely the elements 
used in the dream. You do not see into the dream; 
you do not see its meaning. This dream of the hen — 

Steve 

Hen — hen — wet hen — dry hen — mad hen! 
[Jumps up in a rage.] Let me out of this! 

Henrietta 

[Hastily picking up dishes, speaks soothingly.] Just 

a minute, dear, and we'll have things so you can work 

in quiet. Mabel and I are going to sit in my room. 

[She goes out left, carrying dishes. 

Steve 

[Seising hat and coat from an alcove near the out- 
side door.] I'm going to be psychoanalyzed. I'm 
going now! I'm going straight to that infallible doc- 
tor of hers — that priest of this new religion. If he's 
got honesty enough to tell Henrietta there's nothing 
the matter with my unconscious mind, perhaps I can 
be let alone about it, and then I will be all right. 



SUPPRESSED DESIRES 251 

[From the door in a low voice.] Don't tell Henrietta 
I'm going. It might take weeks, and I couldn't stand 
all the talk. 

[He hurries out. 

Henrietta 

[Returning.] Where's Steve? Gone? [With a 
hopeless gesture.] You see how impatient he is — 
how unlike himself ! I tell you, Mabel, I'm nearly 
distracted about Steve. 

Mabel 
I think he's a little distracted, too. 

Henrietta 

Well, if he's gone — you might as well stay here. 
I have a committee meeting at the book-shop, and 
will have to leave you to yourself for an hour or two. 
[As she puts her hat on, taking it from the alcove 
where Steve found his, her eye, lighting up almost 
carnivorously, falls on an enormous volume on the 
■floor beside the work table. The book has been half 
hidden by the wastebasket. She picks it up and carries 
it around the table toward Mabel.] Here, dear, is one 
of the simplest statements of psychoanalysis. You 
just read this and then we can talk more intelligently. 
[Mabel takes volume and staggers back under its 
weight to chair rear center, Henrietta goes to outer 
door, stops and asks abruptly.] How old is Lyman 
Eggleston ? 

Mabel 

[Promptly.] He isn't forty yet. Why, what made 
you ask that, Henrietta? 



252 SUPPRESSED DESIRES 

[As she turns her head to look at Hen- 
rietta her hands move toward the 
upper corners of the book balanced 
on her knees. 

Henrietta 

Oh, nothing. Au revoir. 

[She goes out. Mabel stares at the 
ceiling. The book slides to the floor. 
She starts; looks at the book, then 
at the broken plate on the table.] 
The plate! The book! [She lifts 
her eyes, leans forward elbow on 
knee, chin on knuckles and plain- 
tively queries] Am I unhappy? 

(Curtain) 



Scene II: Two weeks later. The stage is as in 
Scene I, except that the breakfast table has been re- 
moved. During the first few minutes the dusk of a 
winter afternoon deepens. Out of the darkness spring 
rows of double street-lights almost meeting in the dis- 
tance. Henrietta is at the psychoanalytical end of 
Steve's work-table, surrounded by open books and 
periodicals, writing. Steve enters briskly. 

Steve 
What are you doing, my dear? 

Henrietta 
My paper for the Liberal Club. 



SUPPRESSED DESIRES 253 

Steve 
Your paper on — ? 

Henrietta 
On a subject which does not have your sympathy. 

Steve 

Oh, I'm not sure I'm wholly out of sympathy with 
psychoanalysis, Henrietta. You worked it so hard. I 
couldn't even take a bath without it's meaning some- 
thing. 

Henrietta 

[Loftily.] I talked it because I knew you needed it. 

Steve 

You haven't said much about it these last two weeks. 
Uh — your faith in it hasn't weakened any? 

Henrietta 

Weakened? It's grown stronger with each new 
thing I've come to know. And Mabel. She is with 
Dr. Russell now. Dr. Russell is wonderful I From 
what Mabel tells me I believe his analysis is going to 
prove that I was right. Today I discovered a remark- 
able confirmation of my theory in the hen-dream. 

Steve 
What is your theory? 

Henrietta 

Well, you know about Lyman Eggleston. I've won- 
dered about him. I've never seen him, but I know 



254 SUPPRESSED DESIRES 

he's less bourgeois than Mabel's other friends — more 
intellectual : — and [Significantly] she doesn't see much 
of him because Bob doesn't like him. 

Steve 
But what's the confirmation? 

Henrietta 
Today I noticed the first syllable of his name. 

Steve 
Ly? 

Henrietta 
No — egg. 

Steve 
Egg? 

Henrietta 

[Patiently.] Mabel dreamed she was a hen. 
[Steve laughs.] You wouldn't laugh if you knew 
how important names are in interpreting dreams. 
Freud is full of just such cases in which a whole 
hidden complex is revealed by a single significant 
syllable — like this egg. 

Steve 

Doesn't the traditional relation of hen and egg sug- 
gest rather a maternal feeling? 

Henrietta 

There is something maternal In Mabel's love, of 
course, but that's only one element. 



SUPPRESSED DESIRES 255 

Steve 

Well, suppose Mabel hasn't a suppressed desire to 
be this gentleman's mother, but his beloved. What's 
to be done about it? What about Bob? Don't you 
think it's going to be a little rough on him? 

Henrietta 

That can't be helped. Bob, like everyone else, must 
face the facts of life. If Dr. Russell should arrive 
independently at this same interpretation I shall not 
hesitate to advise Mabel to leave her present husband. 

Steve 

Um — hum! [The lights go up on Fifth Avenue. 
Steve goes to the window and looks out.] How long 
is it we've lived here, Henrietta? 

Steve 
Why, this is the third year, Steve. 

Steve 

I — we — one would miss this view if one went 
away, wouldn't one? 

Henrietta 

How strangely you speak! Oh, Stephen, I wish 
you'd go to Dr. Russell. Don't think my fears have 
abated because I've been able to restrain myself. I 
had to on account of Mabel. But now, dear — won't 
you go? 

Steve 

I — [He breaks off, turns on the light, then comes 



256 SUPPRESSED DESIRES 

and sits beside Henrietta.] How long have we been 
married, Henrietta? 

Henrietta 

Stephen, I don't understand you! You must go to 
Dr. Russell. 

Steve 
I have gone. 

Henrietta 
You — what? 

Steve 

[Jauntily.] Yes, Henrietta, I've been psyched. 

Henrietta 
You went to Dr. Russell? 

Steve 
The same. 

Henrietta 

And what did he say? 

Steve 

He said — I — I was a little surprised by what he 
said, Henrietta. 

Henrietta 

[Breathlessly.] Of course — one can so seldom 
anticipate. But tell me — your dream, Stephen ? It 
means—? 

Steve 

It means — I was considerably surprised by what 
it means. 



SUPPRESSED DESIRES 257 

Henrietta 
Don't be so exasperating! 

Steve 
It means- — you really want to know, Henrietta? 

Henrietta 
Stephen, you'll drive me .mad ! 

Steve 

He said — of course he may be wrong in what he 
said. 

Henrietta 

He isn't wrong. Tell me ! 

Steve 

He said my dream of the walls receding and leaving 
me alone in a forest indicates a suppressed desire — 

Henrietta 
Yes — yes ! 

Steve t 

To be freed from — 

Henrietta 
Yes — > freed from — ? 

Steve 
Marriage. 

Henrietta 

[Crumples. Stares.] Marriage! 



258 SUPPRESSED DESIRES 

Steve 
He — he may be mistaken, you know. 

Henrietta 

May be mistaken? 

Steve 

I — well, of course, I hadn't taken any stock in it 
myself. It was only your great confidence — 

Henrietta 

Stephen, are you telling me that Dr. Russell — Dr. 
A. E. Russell — told you this? [Steve nods.] Told 
you you have a suppressed desire to separate from 
me? 

Steve 

That's what he said. 

Henrietta 
Did he know who you were ? 

Steve 
Yes. 

Henrietta 

That you were married to me ? 

Steve 
Yes, he knew that. 

Henrietta 
And he told you to leave me? 



SUPPRESSED DESIRES 259 

Steve 
It seems he must be wrong, Henrietta. 

Henrietta 

[Rising.] And I've sent him more patients — ! 
[Catches herself and resumes coldly.] What reason 
did he give for this analysis? 

Steve 

He says the confining wals are a symbol of my 
feeling about marriage and that their fading away is 
a wish- fulfillment. 

Henrietta 

[Gulping.] Well, is it ? Do you want our marriage 
to end? 

Steve 

It was a great surprise to me that I did. You see 
I hadn't known what was in my unconscious mind. 

Henrietta 

[Flaming.] What did you tell Dr. Russell about 
me to make him think you weren't happy ? 

Steve 

I never told him a thing, Henrietta. He got it all 
from his confounded clever inferences. I — I tried 
to refute them, but he said that was only part of my 
self -protective lying. 

Henrietta 

And that's why you were so — happy • — when you 
came in just now! 



260 SUPPRESSED DESIRES 

Steve 

Why, Henrietta, how can you say such a thing? I 
was sad. Didn't I speak sadly of — of the view? 
Didn't I ask how long we had been married? 

Henrietta 

[Rising.] Stephen Brewster, have you no sense of 
the seriousness of this? Dr. Russell doesn't know 
what our marriage has been. You do. You should 
have laughed him down! Confined — in life with 
me? Did you tell him that I believe in freedom? 

Steve 

I very emphatically told him that his results were 
a great surprise to me. 

Henrietta 
But you accepted them. 

Steve 

Oh, not at all. I "merely couldn't refute his argu- 
ments. I'm not a psychologist. I came home to talk 
it over with you. You being a disciple of psycho- 
analysis — 

Henrietta 

If you are going, I wish you would go tonight! 

Steve 

Oh, my dear! I — surely I couldn't do that! 
Think of my feelings. And my laundry hasn't come 
home. 



SUPPRESSED DESIRES 261 

Henrietta 

I ask you to go tonight. Some women would falter 
at this, Steve, but I am not such a woman. I leave 
you free. I do not repudiate psychoanalysis; I say 
again that it has done great things. It has also made 
mistakes, of course. But since you accept this analysis 
— [She sits down and pretends to begin work.] I have 
to finish this paper. I wish you would leave me. 

Steve 

[Scratches his head, goes to the inner door.] I'm 
sorry, Henrietta, about my unconscious mind. 

[Alone, Henrietta's face betrays her 
outraged state of mind — ■ discon- 
certed, resentful, trying to pull her- 
self together. She attains an air of 
bravely bearing an outrageous thing. 
— The outer door opens and Mabel 
enters in great excitement. 

Mabel 

[Breathless.] Henrietta, I'm so glad you're here. 
And alone? [Looks toward the inner door.] Are 
you alone, Henrietta ? 

Henrietta 
[With reproving dignity.] Very much so. 

Mabel 
[Rushing to her.] Henrietta, he's found it! 

Henrietta 
[Aloof.] Who has found what? 



262 SUPPRESSED DESIRES 

Mabel • 

Who has found what? Dr. Russell has found my 
suppressed desire ! 

Henrietta 

That is interesting. 

Mabel 

He finished with me today — he got hold of my 
complex — in the most amazing way ! But, oh, Hen- 
rietta — it is so terrible! 

Henrietta 

Do calm yourself, Mabel. Surely there's no occa- 
sion for all this agitation. 

Mabel 

But there is ! And when you think of the lives 
that are affected — the readjustments that must be 
made in order to bring the suppressed hell out of me 
and save me from the insane asylum — ! 

Henrietta 

The insane asylum! 

Mabel 

You said that's where these complexes brought peo- 
ple! 

Henrietta 

What did the doctor tell you, Mabel ? 

Mabel 

Oh, I don't know how I can tell you — it is so 
awful — so unbelievable. 



SUPPRESSED DESIRES 263 

Henrietta 
I rather have my hand in at hearing the unbelievable. 

Mabel 

Henrietta, who would ever have thought it? How 
can it be true ? But the doctor is perfectly certain that 
I have a suppressed desire for- — 

[Looks at Henrietta, is unable to con- 
tinue. 

Henrietta 

Oh, go on, Mabel. I'm not unprepared for what 
you have to say. 

Mabel 

Not unprepared ? You mean you have suspected it ? 

Henrietta 
From the first. It's been my theory all along. 

Mabel 

But, Henrietta, I didn't know myself that I had 
this secret desire for Stephen. 

Henrietta 
[Jumps up.] Stephen! 

Mabel 
My brother-in-law! My own sister's husband! 

Henrietta 
You have a suppressed desire for Stephen! 



264 SUPPRESSED DESIRES 

Mabel 

Oh, Henrietta, aren't these unconscious selves ter- 
rible? They seem so unlike us! 

Henrietta 
What insane thing are you driving at? 

Mabel 

[Blubbering.] Henrietta, don't you use that word 
to me. I don't want to go to the insane asylum. 

Henrietta 
What did Dr, Russell say? 

Mabel 

Well, you see — oh, it's the strangest thing! But 
you know the voice in my dream that called " Step, 
Hen ! " Dr. Russell found out today that when I was 
a little girl I had a story-book in words of one syllable 
and I read the name Stephen wrong. I used to read 
it S-t e p, step, h-e-n, hen. [Dramatically.] Step Hen 
is Stephen. [Enter Stephen, his head bent over a 
time-table.] Stephen is Step Hen! 

Steve 
I? Step Hen?~ 

Mabel 

[Triumphantly.] S-t-e-p, step, H-e-n, hen, Stephen ! 

Henrietta 

[Exploding.] Well, what if Stephen is Step Hen? 
[Scornfully.] Step Hen! Step Hen! For that ri- 
diculous coincidence — 



SUPPRESSED DESIRES 265 

Mabel 

Coincidence! But it's childish to look at the mere 
elements of a dream. You have to look into it — you 
have to see what it means! 

Henrietta 

On account of that trivial, meaningless play on 
syllables — on that flimsy basis — you are ready — 
[Wails.] O-h! 

Steve 

What on earth's the matter? What has happened? 
Suppose I am Step Hen? What about it? What 
does it mean ? 

Mabel 

[Crying.] It means — that I — have a suppressed 
desire for you! 

Steve 

For me! The deuce you have! [Feebly.] What 
— er — makes you think so ? 

Mabel 
Dr. Russell has worked it out scientifically. 

Henrietta 

Yes. Through the amazing discovery that Step Hen 
equals Stephen! 

Mabel 

[Tearfully.] Oh, that isn't all — that isn't near all. 
Henrietta won't give me a chance to tell it. She'd 
rather I'd go to the insane asylum than be unconven- 
tional. 



266 SUPPRESSED DESIRES 

Henrietta 

We'll all go there if you can't control yourself. We 
are still waiting for some rational report. 

Mabel 

[Drying her eyes.] Oh, there's such a lot about 
names. [With some pride.] I don't see how I ever 
did it. It all works in together. I dreamed I was 
a hen because that's the first syllable of Hen-rietta's 
name, and when I dreamed I was a hen, I was putting 
myself in Henrietta's place. 



With Stephen? 
With Stephen. 



Henrietta 

Mabel 
Henrietta 



[Outraged.] Oh! [Turns in rage upon Stephen, 
who is fanning himself with the time-table.] What 
are you doing with that time-table? 

Steve 

Why — I thought — you were so keen to have me 
go tonight' — I thought I'd just take a run up to 
Canada, and join Billy — a little shooting — but — 

Mabel 
But there's more about the names. 

Henrietta 

Mabel, have you thought of Bob — dear old Bob 
— your good, kind husband ? 



SUPPRESSED DESIRES 267 

Mabel 
Oh, Henrietta, " my good, kind husband ! " 

Henrietta 

Think of him, Mabel, out there alone in Chicago, 
working his head off, fixing people's teeth — for you ! 

Mabel 

Yes, but think of the living Libido — in conflict 
with petrified moral codes ! And think of the perfectly 
wonderful way the names all prove it. Dr. Russell 
said he's never seen anything more convincing. Just 
look at Stephen's last name — 'Brewster. I dream 
I'm a hen, and the name Brewster — you have to say 
its first letter by itself — and then the hen, that's me, 
she says to him : " Stephen, Be Rooster ! " 

[Henrietta and Stephen collapse into 
the nearest chairs. 

Mabel 

I think it's perfectly wonderful ! Why, if it wasn't 
for psychoanalysis you'd never find out how wonderful 
your own mind is! 

Steve 

[Begins to chuckle.] Be Rooster! Stephen, Be 
Rooster ! 

Henrietta 

You think it's funny, do you? 

Steve 

Well, what's to be done about it? Does Mabel 
have to go away with me? 



268 SUPPRESSED DESIRES 

Henrietta 
Do you want Mabel to go away with you? 

Steve 

Well, but Mabel herself — her complex — her sup- 
pressed desire — ! 

Henrietta 

[Going to her.] Mabel, are you going to insist 
on going away with Stephen? 

Mabel 

I'd rather go with Stephen than go to the insane 
asylum ! 

Henrietta 

For heaven's sake, Mabel, drop that insane asylum ! 
If you did have a suppressed desire for Stephen hidden 
away in you — God knows it isn't hidden now. Dr. 
Russell has brought it into your consciousness — with 
a vengeance. That's all that's necessary to break up 
a complex. Psychoanalysis doesn't say you have to 
gratify every suppressed desire. 

Steve 
[Softly.] Unless it's for Lyman Eggleston. 

Henrietta 

[Turning on him.] Well, if it comes to that, Ste- 
phen Brewster, I'd like to know why ftiat interpreta- 
tion of mine isn't as good as this one? Step, Hen! 

Steve 
But Be Rooster ! [He pauses, chuckling to himself.] 



SUPPRESSED DESIRES 269 

Step-Hen B-rooster. And Henrietta. Pshaw, my 
dear, Doc Russell's got you beat a mile ! [He turns 
away and chuckles.] Be rooster! 

Mabel 
What has Lyman Eggleston got to do with it? 

Steve 

According to Henrietta, you, the hen, have a sup- 
pressed desire for Eggleston, the egg. 

Mabel 

Henrietta, I think that's indecent of you! He is 
bald as an egg and little and fat — the idea of you 
thinking such a thing of me I 

Henrietta 

Well, Bob isn't little and bald and fat ! Why don't 
you stick to your own husband? [To Stephen.] 
What if Dr. Russell's interpretation has got mine " beat 
a mile"? [Resentful look at him.] It would only 
mean that Mabel doesn't want Eggleston and does want 
you. Does that mean she has to have you? 

Mabel 
But you said Mabel Snow — 

Henrietta 

Mary Snow! You're not as much like her as you 
think — substituting your name for hers! The cases 
are entirely different. Oh, I wouldn't have believed 
this of you, Mabel. [Beginning to cry.] I brought 



270 SUPPRESSED DESIRES 

you here for a pleasant visit — thought you needed 
brightening up — wanted to be nice to you — and now 
you — my husband — you insist — 

[In fumbling her way to her chair she 
brushes to the floor some sheets from 
the psychoanalytical table. 

Steve 

[With solicitude,'] Careful, dear. Your paper on 
psychoanalysis ! 

[Gathers up sheets and offers them to her. 

Henrietta 

I don't want my paper on psychoanalysis ! I'm sick 
of psychoanalysis ! 

Steve 

[Eagerly.] Do you mean that, Henrietta? 

Henrietta 

Why shouldn't I mean it? Look at all I've done 
for psychoanalysis — and — [Raising a tear-stained 
face] what has psychoanalysis done for me? 

Steve 

Do you mean, Henrietta, that you're going to stop 
talking psychoanalysis ? 

Henrietta 

Why shouldn't I stop talking it? Haven't I seen 
what it does to people ? Mabel has gone crazy about 
psychoanalysis ! 

[At the word " crazy " with a moan 
Mabel sinks to chair and buries her 
face in her hands. 



SUPPRESSED DESIRES 271 

Steve 

[Solemnly.] Do you swear never to wake me up 
in the night to find out what I'm dreaming? 

Henrietta 

Dream wjiat you please — I don't care what you're 
dreaming. 

Steve 

Will you clear off my work-table so the Journal 
of Morbid Psychology doesn't stare me in the face 
when I'm trying to plan a house? 

Henrietta 

[Pushing a stack of periodicals off the table.] I'll 
bum the Journal of Morbid Psychology! 

Steve 

My dear Henrietta, if you're going to separate from 
psychoanalysis, there's no reason why I should separate 
from you. 

[They embrace ardently. Mabel lifts 
her head and looks at them woefully. 

Mabel 

[Jumping up and going toward them.] But what 
about me? What am I to do with my suppressed 
desire ? 

Steve 

[ With one arm still around Henrietta, gives Mabel 
a brotherly hug.] Mabel, you just keep right on sup- 
pressing it ! 

(Curtain) 



TICKLESS TIME 

A COMEDY IN ONE ACT 

(In Collaboration with George Cram Cook) 

First performed by the Provincetown Players, 
New York, December 20, 1918 



ORIGINAL CAST 

Ian Joyce, Who Has Made a Sun-dial James Light 
Eloise Joyce, Wedded to the Sun-dial 

Norma Millay 

Mrs. Stubbs, a Native . . \ . . . Jean Robb 
Eddy Knight, a Standardised Mind 

. ■. . . . » * . . HIjtchinson Collins 
Alice Knight, a Standardised Wife 

Alice MacDougal 

Annie, Who Cooks by the Joyces' Clock 

Edna St. Vincent Millay 



TICKLESS TIME 



Scene: A garden in Provincetown. On the spec- 
tator's right a two-story house runs back from the 
proscenium — a door towards the front, a second- 
story window towards the back. Across the back runs 
a thick-set row of sunflowers nearly concealing a fence 
or wall. Back of this are trees and sky. There is a 
gate at the left rear corner of the garden. People 
entering it come straight tozuard the front, down the 
left side and, to reach the house 1 
door, pass across the front of 
the stage. A fence with sun- 
flowers like that at the back 
closes off the left wing of the 
stage — a tree behind this left 
fence. 

The sun-dial stands on a broad 
step or pedestal which partly 
masks the digging which takes 
place behind it. The position of 
the sun-dial is to the left of the 
center of the stage midway be- 
tween front and back. 

From behind the tree on the 
left the late afternoon sun throws 
a well-defined beam of light 
upon the horizontal plate of the 
sun-dial and upon the shaft 
which supports it. On this 

275 





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JUN 




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SEP 




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OCT-3 


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276 TICKLESS TIME 

shaft is the accompanying diagram: two feet high and 
clearly visible. 

On the plate of the sun-dial stands the alarm-clock. 
A huge shovel leans against the wall of the house- 
corner at the bach. 

Ian is at the sun-dial. He sights over the style to 
some distant stake left rear, marking the north. He 
then sights over the east and west line toward the six 
o'clock sun. Looks at shadow. Looks at alarm clock. 
Is intensely pleased. 

Ian 

[Turning toward house and calling excitedly.] 
Eloise ! Oh, Eloise ! 

Eloise 
[Inside house.] Hello! 

Ian 
Come quick! You'll miss it. 

Eloise 

[Poking her head out of the second-story window; 
she cranes her neck to look straight up in the air.] 
What is it? 

Ian 
Come down here quick or you'll miss it. 

Eloise 
[Disappears from window. A moment later comes 



TICKLESS TIME 277 

running out, one braid of hair up and one braid down. 
Again looks wildly up in the air.] Where is it? 

Ian 

[Absorbed in the sun-dial.] Where's what? 

Eloise 
The airplane. 

Ian 

Airplane? It's the sun-dial. It's right. Just look 
at this six o'clock shadow. [She goes around to the 
other side of it.] It's absolutely, mathematically — 
you're in the way of the sun, Eloise. [She steps 
aside.] Look ! the style is set square on the true north 
— this is the fifteenth of June — the clock is checked 
to the second by telegraph with the observatory at 
Washington and see! the clock is exactly nineteen 
minutes and twenty seconds behind the shadow — the 
precise difference between Provincetown local time and 
standard Eastern time. 

Eloise 

Then the sun-dial's really finished — and working 
right ! After all these^weeks ! Oh, Ian ! 

[Embraces him. 

Ian 

It's good to get it right after all those mistakes. 
[With vision.] Why, Eloise, getting this right has 
been a symbol of man's whole search for truth — the 
discovery and correction of error — the mind com- 
pelled to conform step by step to astronomical fact — 
to truth. 



278 TICKLESS TIME 

Eloise 

[Going to it again.] And to think that it's the sun- 
dial which is true and the clock — all the clocks — 
are wrong! I'm glad it is true. Alice Knight has 
been here talking to me for an hour. I want to think 
that something's true. 

Ian 

That's just it, Eloise. The sun-dial is more than 
sun-dial. It's a first-hand relation with truth. A per- 
sonal relation. When you take your time from a clock 
you are mechanically getting information from a ma- 
chine. You're nothing but a clock yourself. 

Eloise 
Like Alice Knight. 

Ian 

But the sun-dial — this shadow is an original docu- 
ment — a scholar's source. 

Eloise 

To tell time by the shadow of the sun — so large 
and simple. 

Ian 

I wouldn't call it simple. Here on this diagram 
I have worked out — 

Eloise 

Dearest, you know I can't understand diagrams. 
But I get the feeling of it, Ian — the sun, the North 
star. I love to think that this [Placing her hands on 
the style] is set by the North star. [Her right hand 
remains on the style, her left prolongs its line heaven- 



TICKLESS TIME 279 

ward.] Why, if I could go on long enough I'd get to 
the North star! 

Ian 

[Impressively.] The line that passes along the edge 
of this style joins the two poles of the heavens. 
[Eloise pulls away her hand as one who fears an 
electric shock.] Look at this slow shadow and what 
you see is the spin of the earth on its axis. It is not 
so much the measure of time as time itself made visible. 

Eloise 

[Knitting her brows to get this: escaping to an im- 
petuous generality.] Ian, which do you think is the 
more wonderful — space or time ? 

Ian 

[Again sighting over his east and west lines. Good- 
hamoredly.] Both are a little large for our approba- 
tion. 

Eloise 

[Sitting on the steps and putting up the other braid.] 
Do you know, Ian, that's the one thing about them 
I don't quite like. You can't get very intimate with 
them, can you? They make you so humble. That's 
one nice thing about a clock. A clock is sometimes 
wrong. 

Ian 

Don't you want to live in a first-hand relation to 
truth ? 

Eloise 

Yes ; yes, I do — generally. 



280 TICKLESS TIME 

Ian 

I have a feeling as of having touched vast forces. 
To work directly with worlds — it lifts me out of that 
little routine of our lives which is itself a clock. 

Eloise 

[Catching his exultation.] Let us be like this ! Let 
us have done with clocks ! 

Ian 

Eloise, how wonderful ! Can the clocks and live by 
the sun-dial? Live by the non-automatic sun-dial — 
as a pledge that we ourselves refuse to be automatons ! 

Eloise 

Like Alice Knight. [She takes clock from dial and 
puts it face downward on the ground.] I shall never 
again have anything to do with a clock ! 

Ian 

Eloise! How corking of you! I didn't think you 
had it in you. [Raising his right hand.] Do you 
solemnly swear to live by the truth, the whole truth 
and nothing but the truth? 

Eloise 
[Her hand upon the sun-dial.] I swear. 

Ian 
Bring them! 

Eloise 
Bring — ? 



TICKLESS TIME 281 

Ian 

The clocks! Bring them! [Seises the spade over 
by the house; begins to dig a grave behind the sun- 
dial.] Bring every one! We will bury the clocks 
before the sun-dial — an offering, a living sacrifice. 
I tell you this is great, Eloise. What is a clock? 
Something agreed upon and arbitrarily imposed upon 
us. Standard time. Not true time. Symbolizing the 
whole standardization of our lives. Clocks ! Why, 
it is clockiness that makes America mechanical and 
mean! Clock-minded! A clock is a little machine 
that shuts us out from the wonder of time. [A large 
gesture with the shovel.] Who thinks of spinning 
worlds when looking at a clock ? How dare clocks do 
this to us ? But the sun-dial — beoause there was crea- 
tion, because there are worlds outside our world, be- 
cause space is rhythm and time is flow that shadow 
falls precisely there and not elsewhere! Bring them, 
Eloise! I am digging the graves of the clocks! 

[Eloise swept up by this ecstasy, yet 
frightened at what it is bringing her 
to, hesitates, then runs to house. 
Ian digs with rhythmic vigor. A 
moment later Eloise is seen peering 
down at him from window, in her 
arms a cuckoo clock. It begins to 
cuckoo, startling Eloise. 

Ian 

That damned cuckoo! 

[A moment later Eloise comes out, bear- 
ing cuckoo clock and an old-fash- 
ioned clock. Ian's back is to her; 
she has to pass the alarm clock, lying 



282 TICKLESS TIME 

where she left it, prone on the 
ground. She hesitates, then care- 
fully holding the other two clocks 
in one arm, she stealthily goes rear 
and puts the alarm clock behind the 
sunflowers. Then advances with 
the other two. 

Ian 

[While digging.] Into these graves go all that is 
clock-like in our own minds. All that a clock world 
has made of us lies buried here ! 

[Eloise stands rather appalled at the 
idea of so much of herself going 
into a grave. Puts the old-fash- 
ioned clock carefully on the ground. 
Gingerly tits the cuckoo clock into 
the completed grave. With an ex- 
clamation of horror lifts it out of 
the grave. Listens to its tick. Puts 
her ear to the sun-dial; listens 
vainly. 

Eloise 
The sun-dial doesn't tick, does it, Ian? 

Ian 

Why should it tick? 

Eloise 

Do you know, Ian, I [Timidly] I like to hear the 
ticking of a clock. [No reply. Eloise holds up the 
cuckoo clock.] This was a wedding present. 



TICKLESS TIME 283 

Ian 

No wonder marriage fails. 

[He moves to take it from her. 

Eloise 

I wonder if we hadn't better leave the cuckoo until 
tomorrow. 

Ian 

Flaming worlds ! A cuckoo ! 

Eloise 

Eddy and Alice gave us the cuckoo. You know 
they're coming back. I asked them for dinner. They 
might not understand our burying their clock. 

Ian 

Their failure to understand need not limit our lives. 
[Puts the cuckoo clock in its grave and 
begins to cover it. 

Eloise 

[As the earth goes on.] I liked the cuckoo ! I liked 
to see him popping out! 

Ian 

[Kindly.] You will grow, Eloise. You will go out 
to large things now that you have done with small 
ones. 

Eloise 

I hope so. It will be hard on me if I don't 

[Ian reaches for the other clock. 



284 TICKLESS TIME 

Eloise 

[Snatching it.] Oh, Ian, I don't think I ought to 
bury this one. It's the clock my grandmother started 
housekeeping with ! 

Ian 

[Firmly taking clock.] And see what it did to her. 
Meticulous old woman ! 

[Puts it in its grave. 
Eloise 

You were glad enough to get her pies and buckwheat 
cakes. 

Ian 

She had all the small virtues. But a standardized 
mind. [Trampling down the grave.] She lacked 
scope. And now — a little grave for little clocks. 
[Takes out his watch, puts it in the grave.] Your 
watch, Eloise. 

Eloise 

[Holding to her wrist watch.] I thought I'd keep 
my watch, Ian. [Hastily.] For an ornament, you 
know. 

Ian 

We are going to let truth be your ornament, Eloise. 

Eloise 

Nobody sees truth. [With a fresh outburst.] This 
watch was my graduation present ! 

Ian 

Symbolizing all the standardized arbitrary things 
you were taught ! Commemorating the clock-like way 



TICKLESS TIME 285 

your mind was made to run. Free yourself of that 
watch, Eloise. [Eloise reluctantly frees herself : . Ian 
briskly covers the watches. Moves to the unfilled 
grave.] Is there nothing for this grave? [Eloise 
shakes her head.] Sure — the alarm clock! 

Eloise 

[Running to the sunflowers and spreading out her 
skirts before them.] Oh, Ian, not the alarm clock! 
How would we ever go to Boston ? The train doesn't 
run by the sun. 

Ian 

Then the train is wrong. 

Eloise 

But, Ian, if the train is wrong we have to be wrong 
to catch the train. 

Ian 

That's civilization. [Stands resolutely by the 
grave.] The alarm clock, Eloise. The grave awaits 
it. 

Eloise 

[ Taking it up, her arms folded around it.] I wanted 
to go to Boston and buy a hat! 

Ian 

The sun will fall upon your dear head and give you 
life. 

Eloise 

[About to cry.] But no style! It ticks so loud 
and sure! 



286 TICKLESS TIME 

Ian 

All false things are loud and sure. 

Eloise 

I need a tick! I am afraid of tickless time! 

[Holding the clock in both hands she 
places it against her left ear. 

Ian j 

[Spade still in his right hand, he places his left arm 
around her reassuringly.] You will grow, Eloise. 
You are growing. 

[He takes the clock as he is saying this. 
She turns her head backward fol- 
lowing the departing clock with sur^ 
prised and helpless eyes. Disconso- 
lately watches him bury it. 

Eloise 

[An inspiration.] Ian! Couldn't you fix the sun- 
dial to be set and go off ? 

Ian 

[Pained.] *' Set and go off ? " [Pause; regards the 
sun.] Sine sole silio. 

Eloise 

What did you say, Ian? 

Ian 

I said: Sine sole silio. 

Eloise 

Well, I don't know what you say when you say 
that. 



TICKLESS TIME 287 

Ian 

It's a Latin motto I've just thought of for the sun- 
dial. It means, " Without sun, I am silent." Silence 
is a great virtue. [Having finished the grave, he looks 
around, making sure there are no more clocks. Joy- 
ously.] Now we are freed! Eloise, think what life 
is going to be ! Done with approximations. Done 
with machine thinking. In a world content with false 
time, we are true. 

Eloise 

[Sitting on the steps.] Yes, it's beautiful. I want 
to be true. It's just that it's a little hard to be true 
in a false world. For instance, tomorrow I have an 
appointment with the dentist. If I come on sun-time 
I suppose I'll be twenty minutes — 

Ian 

[Eagerly. Going to the sun-dial and pointing.] If 
you will just let me explain this table — [Eloise 
shrinks back. Ian gives it up.] Oh, well, tell him 
you are living by the truth. 

Eloise 

I'm afraid he'll charge me for it. And when we 
ask people for dinner at seven, they'll get here at 
twenty minutes of seven. Or will it be twenty minutes 
after seven ? 

Ian 

[Smoothing down graves.] It will be a part of 
eternal time. 

Eloise 

Yes, — that's true. Only the roast isn't so eternal. 
Why do they have clocks wrong? 



288 TICKLESS TIME 

Ian 

Oh, Eloise, I've explained it so many times. You 
— living in Provincetown, three hundred miles to the 
eastward, are living by the mean solar time of Phila- 
delphia. [Venomously.] Do you want to live by the 
mean solar time of Philadelphia? 

Eloise 

Certainly not. [An idea.] Then has Philadelphia 
got the right time? 

Ian 

It's right six miles this side of Philadelphia. 

Eloise 

We might move to Philadelphia. 

[Enter through gate, Mrs. Stubbs, a 
Provincetown " native." 

Mrs. Stubbs 
Now, Mr. Joyce, this sun clock,' — is it running? 

Ian 
It doesn't " run," Mrs. Stubbs. It is acted upon. 

Mrs. Stubbs 
Oh. Well, is it being acted upon? 

Ian 

As surely as the sun shines. 

Mrs. Stubbs 

[Looking at the sun.] And it is shining today, isn't 
it? Well, will you tell me the time? My clock has 
stopped and I want to set it. 



TICKLESS TIME 289 

Ian 

[Happily.] You hear, Eloise? Her clock has 
stopped. 

Mrs. Stubbs 

Yes, I forgot to wind it. 

Eloise 

[Grieved to think of any one living in such a world.] 
Wind it! 

Ian 

Do you not see, Mrs. Stubbs, where the shadow 
falls? [She comes up the steps.] From its millions 
of spinn — You're in the way of the sun, Mrs. 
Stubbs. [She steps aside.] Its millions of spinning 
miles the sun casts that shadow and here we know 
that it is eight minutes past six. 

Mrs. Stubbs 

Now, ain't that wonderful ? Dear, dear, I wish Mr. 
Stubbs could make a sun clock. But he's not handy 
around the house. Past six. Well, I must hurry 
back. They work tonight at the cold storage but Mr. 
Stubbs gets home for his supper at half past six. 

[Starts away, reaching the gate. 

Eloise 

[Running to her.] Oh, Mrs. Stubbs! Don't get 
his supper by sun time. It wouldn't be ready. It — 
[With a hesitant look at Ian] might get cold. [Mrs. 
Stubbs stares.] You see, Mr. Stubbs is coming home 
by the mean solar time of Philadelphia. 



290 TICKLESS TIME 

Mrs. Stubbs 
[Loyal to Mr. Stubbs.] Who said he was? 

Eloise 

[In distress.] Oh, it's all so false ! And arbitrary ! 

[To Ian.] But I think Mrs. Stubbs had better be 
false and arbitrary too. Mr. Stubbs might rather 
have his supper than the truth. 

Mrs. Stubbs 

[Advancing a little.] What is this about my being 
false ? And — arbitrary ? 

Eloise 

You see, you have to be, Mrs. Stubbs. We don't 
blame you. How can you live by the truth if Mr. 
Stubbs doesn't work by it? 

Mrs. Stubbs 

This is the first word I ever heard said against 
Johnnie Stubbs' way of freezin' fish. 

Eloise 

Oh, Mrs. Stubbs, if it were merely his way of freez- 
ing fish ! 

Ian 

Since you are not trying to establish a direct relation 
with truth, set your clock at five minutes of six. The 
clocks, as would be clear to you if you would estab- 
lish a first-hand relation with this diagram, Eloise, 
are slow. 



TICKLESS TIME 291 

Mrs. Stubbs 
You mean your sun clock's wrong. 

Ian 

All other clocks are wrong. 

Eloise 
You live by the mean solar time of Philadelphia. 

Mrs. Stubbs 

I do no such thing ! 

Eloise 

Yes, you do, Mrs. Stubbs. You see the sun can't be 
both here and in Philadelphia at the same time. Now 
could it? So we have to pretend to be where it is in 
Philadelphia. 

Mrs. Stubbs 

Who said we did ? 

Eloise 

Well, [After a look at Ian] the Government. 

Mrs. Stubbs 

Them congressmen! 

Eloise 

But Mr. Joyce and I — You're standing on a 
grave, Mrs. Stubbs. [Mrs. Stubbs jumps.] The 
grave of my grandmother's clock. [In reply to Mrs. 
Stubbs look of amazement.] Oh, yes! That clock 
has done harm enough. Mrs. Stubbs, think what 
time is — and then consider my grandmother's clock! 
Tick, tick ! Tick, tick ! Messing up eternity like that ! 



292 TICKLESS TIME 

Mrs. Stubbs 

[After failing to think of anything adequate.] I 
must get Mr. Stubbs his supper! 

[Frightened exit. 
Ian 

[Standing near house door.] Eloise, how I love you 
when feeling lifts you out of routine ! Do you know, 
dearest, you are very sensitive in the way you feel 
feeling? Sometimes I think that to feel feeling is 
greater than to feel. You're like the dial. Your sen- 
sitiveness is the style — the gnomon — to cast the) 
shadow of the feeling all around you and mark what 
has been felt. 

[They embrace. Eddy and Alice open 
the gate. 

Eddy 

Ahem! [He comes down.] Ahem! We seem to 
have come ahead of time. 

Eloise 

Oh, Eddy ! Alice ! [Moving toward Eddy but not 
passing the dial.] We are living by sun time now. 
You haven't arrived for twenty minutes. 

Eddy 

We haven't arrived for twenty minutes? [Feeling 
of himself.] Why do I seem to be here? 

Alice 

[Approaching dial.] So this is the famous sun- 
dial? How very interesting it is! 



TICKLESS TIME 293 

Eloise 
It's more than that. 

Alice 
Yes, it's really beautiful, isn't it? 

Eloise 

It's more than that. 

Eddy 
Is it? 

Eloise 

It's a symbol. It means that Ian and I are done 
with approximations arbitrarily and falsely imposed 
upon us. 

'Eddy 

Well, I should think you would be. Who's been 
doing that to you? 

Eloise 

Don't step on the graves, please, Alice. 

Alice 
[Starting back in horror.] Graves? 

Eloise 

[Pointing down.] The lies we inherited lie buried 
there. 

Eddy 

Well, I should think that might make quite a grave- 
yard. So the sun-dial is built on lies. 






294 TICKLESS TIME 

Eloise 
Indeed it is not ! 

Alice 
Does it keep time? 

Ian 
It doesn't "keep" time. It gives it. 

Eddy 

[Comparing with his watch.] Well, it gives it 
wrong. It's twenty minutes fast. 

[Ian and Eloise smile at one another in 
a superior way. 

Alice 

You couldn't expect a home-made clock to be per- 
fectly accurate. I think it's doing very well to come 
within twenty minutes of the true time. 

Ian 
It is true time. 

Eloise 

You think it's twenty minutes fast because your 
puny, meticulous little watch is twenty minutes slow. 

Alice 

Why is it, Eddy? [Comparing watches across the 
sun-dial.] No, Eddy's watch is right by mine. 

Ian 

And neither of you is right by the truth. 



TICKLESS TIME 295 

Eloise 

[Pityingly.] Don't you know that you are running 
by the mean solar time of Philadelphia? 

Eddy 
Well, isn't everybody else running that way? 

Eloise 
Does that make it right ? 

Eddy 

I get you. You are going to cast off standard time 
and live by solar time. 

Eloise 
Lies for truth. 

Eddy 

But how are you going to connect up with other 
people ? 

Ian 
We can allow for their mistakes. 

Eloise 

We will connect with other people in so far as other 
people are capable of connecting with the truth ! 

Eddy 
I'm afraid you'll be awful lonesome sometimes. 

Alice 

But, Eloise, do you mean to say that you are going 
to insist on being right when other people are wrong? 



296 TICKLESS TIME 

Eloise 
I insist upon it. 

Alice 
What a life! 

Eddy 

Come now, what difference does it make if we're 
wrong if we're all wrong together? 

Ian 

That idea has made a clock of the human mind. 

[Enter Annie. 
Annie 

Mrs. Joyce, can't I have my dock back now? I 
don't know when to start dinner. 

Ian 

[Consulting dial.] By true time, Annie, it is 
twenty minutes past six. 

Eloise 
[Confidentially.] By false time, it is six. 

Annie 

I have to have my kitchen clock back. 

[She looks around for it. 

Ian 

We are done with clocks, Annie. 

Annie 
You mean I'm not to have it back? 



TICKLESS TIME 297 

Eloise 
It lies buried there. 

Annie 
Buried ? My clock buried? It's not dead! 

Ian 
It's dead to us, Annie. 

Annie 
[After looking at the grave.] Do I get a new clock? 

Eloise 

We are going to establish a first-hand relation with 
truth. 

Annie 

You can't cook without a clock. 

Ian 

A superstition. And anyway — have you not the 
sun? 

Annie 

[After regarding the sun.] I'd rather have a clock 
than the sun. 

[Returns to her clockless kitchen. 

Ian 

That's what clocks have made of the human mind. 

Eddy 
[Coming to Ian.] Of course, this is all a joke. 



298 TICKLESS TIME 

Ian 

The attempt to reach truth has always been thought 
a joke. 

Eddy 

But this isn't any new truth! Why re-reach it? 

Ian 

I'm reaching it myself. I'm getting the impact — 
as of a fresh truth. 

Alice 

But hasn't it all been worked out for us? 

Ian 

And we take it never knowing — never feeling — - 
what it is we take. 

Eloise 

And that has made us the mechanical things we are ! 

Annie 

[Frantically rushes in, peeling an onion.] Starting 
the sauce for the spaghetti. Fry onions in butter 
three minutes. 

[ Wildly regards sun-dial — traces curved 
line of diagram with knife. Leaks 
despairingly at the sun. Tears back 
into house. 

Ian 
You get no sense of wonder in looking at a clock. 

Alice 
Yes, do you know, I do. I've always thought that 



TICKLESS TIME 299 

clocks were perfectly wonderful. I never could un- 
derstand how they could run like that. 

Eloise 
I suppose you know they run wrong? 

Eddy 
What do you mean " run wrong? " 

Eloise 

Why, you are running by the mean solar time of 
Philadelphia ! And yet here you are in Provincetown 
where the sun is a very different matter. You have 
no direct relation with the sun. 

Eddy 
That doesn't seem to worry me much. 

Ian 

No, it wouldn't worry you, Eddy. You're too per- 
fect a product of a standardized world. 

[Eddy bows acknowledgment. 

Annie 

[Rushing out to look at dial.] Add meat, brown 
seven minutes. 

[Measures seven minutes between thumb 
and finger, holds up this fragment of 
time made visible and carries it care- 
fully into the, house. 

Eddy 
That girl'll get heart disease. 



300 TICKLESS TIME 

Ian 

Let her establish a first-hand relation to heat. If 
she'd take a look at the food instead of the clock — ! 

Eddy 

Trouble is we have to establish a first-hand relation 
with the spaghetti. [Eddy now comes down and re- 
gards the sun-dial. Moralizes.] If other people have 
got the wrong dope, you've got to have the wrong dope 
or be an off ox. 

Ian 

Perfect product of a standardized nation! 

Eddy 

[P Anting with his stick,] What's this standardized 
snake ? 

Ian 

That's my diagram correcting the sun. 

Eddy 
Does one correct the sun? 

Eloisb 
[From behind the dial.] Ian! Correcting the sun! 

Ian 

You see there are only four days in the year when 
the apparent time is the same as the average time. 

Eloise 

[In growing alarm.] Do you mean to tell me the 
sun is not right with itself? 



TICKLESS TIME 301 

Ian 

I've tried to explain it to you, Eloise, but you said 
you could get the feeling of it without understanding 
it. This curve [Pointing] marks the variation. Here 
today, you see, the shadow is " right " as you call it 
— that is, average. It will be right again here in Sep- 
tember and again on December twenty-first. 

Alice 
My birthday ! 

Eloise 

Ian, you mean to say the sun only tells the right sun- 
time four days in the year? 

Ian 

It always tells the " right " sun-time, but here the 
said right sun-time is fifteen minutes behind its own 
average, and here it is sixteen minutes ahead. This 
scale here across the bottom shows you the number 
of minutes to add or subtract. 

Eloise 

[With bitterness.] Add! Subtract! Then youl 
and your sun are false ! 

Ian 

No, Eloise, not false. Merely intricate. Merely 
not regular. Machines are regular. 

Eloise 

You got me to bury the clocks and live by the sun — 
and now you tell me you have to fix up the sun. 



302 TICKLESS TIME 

Ian 
It was you who said bury the clocks. 

Eloise 

I suppose you have to do something to the North 
star too ! 

Ian 

Yes, the North star is not true north. 

[He starts to point out its error, sight- 
ing over the style of the dial. 

Eloise 
What is true? What is true? 

Ian 
[With vision.] The mind of man. 

Eloise 

I think I'd better have a clock. [A new gust.] 
You told me I was to live by the sun and now — 
after the clocks are in their graves — what I am to 
live by is that snake. [She points at diagram. 

Ian 

You are a victim of misplaced confidence, Eloise. 
Sometimes when one feels things without understand- 
ing them, one feels the wrong thing. But there's noth- 
ing to worry about. The sun and I can take care of 
the sun's irregularities. 

Eddy 
Take heart, Eloise. It's a standardized sun. 



TICKLESS TIME 303 

Ian 

It's not a blindly accepted sun! 

Annie 

[Who comes as one not to be put aside.] What'll 
I do when it rains? 

Ian 
You'll use your mind. 

Annie 

To tell time by? [Looking to Eloise.] I think 
I'd better find another place. 

Alice 

[Coming forward, regarding this as a really serious 
matter.] No, don't do that, Annie. 

Eloise 

[Tearfully.] You don't know the wonders of your 
own mind ! 

Annie 

No, ma'm. [After a look at the sun, becomes ter- 
rified.] It's going down! 

Eddy 
Yes, it goes down. 

Annie 

How'll we tell time when it's dark ? 

Ian 
Sine sole silio. 



304 TICKLESS TIME 

Annie 

Is that saying how we'll know when it's time to 
go to bed? 

Ian 

The doves know when to go to bed. 

Annie 
The doves don't go to the pictures. 

Eloise 
[Hysterically.] You'll grow, Annie ! 

Annie 

I'd rather have a clock! 

[Exit. 
Ian 

She'd rather have a clock than grow. 

Alice 
Now why can't one do both? 

Ian 

One doesn't — that's the answer. One merely has 
the clock. I'd rather be a fool than a machine. 

Eddy 
I never definitely elected to be either. 

Ian 
One can be both without electing either. 



TICKLESS TIME 305 

Eloise 
I want to hear the ticking of a clock! 

Eddy 

It's a nice thing to hear. The ticking of a clock 
means the minds of many men. As long as the mind 
of man has to — fix up the facts of nature in order 
to create ideal time I feel it's a little more substantial 
to have the minds of many men. 

Alice 

As I've told you before, Eloise, you can't do better 
than accept the things that have been all worked out 
for you. 

Ian 

You hear them, Eloise ? You see where this defense 
of clocks is leading? 

Eloise 

Ian, I'm terribly worried — and a little hurt — about 
the sun. [As one beginning a dirge.] The sun ha3 
failed me, The North star is false. 

Ian 
[Going to her.] I am here, dearest. 

Eloise 

Sometimes you seem so much like space. I am 
running by the sun — that wobbly sun [Looking at it] 
and everyone else is running by Philadelphia. I want 
a little clock to tick to me! 



306 TICKLESS TIME 

Ian 

You will grow, dearest. 

Eloise 

There's no use growing. The things you grow to 
are wrong. [Pressing her hands to her head.] I 
need a tick in time! 

Ian 

[Striding savagely from her.] Very well, then; dig 
up the clocks. 

Eddy 

Now your're talking! 

[Eloise springs up. 
Ian 

Dig up the clocks ! And we spend our lives nineteen 
minutes and twenty seconds apart ! 

[Eloise is arrested, appalled. Dreadful 
pause. 

Eloise 
You mean we'd never get together? 

Ian 

Time would lie between us. I refuse to be re-caught 
into a clock world. It was you, Eloise, who proposed 
we give up the clocks and live in this first-hand relation 
to truth. 

Eloise 

I didn't know I was proposing a first-hand relation 
with that snake! 



TICKLESS TIME 307 

Ian 

It's not a snake ! It's a little piece of the long wind- 
ing road to truth. It's the discarding of error, the 
adjustment of fact. And I did it myself. And it puts 
me on that road. Oh, I know [To Eddy and Alice] 
how you can laugh if you yourself feel no need to feel 
truth. And you, Eloise, if you don't want to feel 
time — return to your mean little clock. What is a 
clock ? A clock is the soulless — 

[The alarm clock enters a protest. 
Smothered sound of the alarm going 
off underground. Eloise screams. 

Eloise 
The alarm clock! It's going off! 

Alice 
Buried alive! 

Eloise 

Oh, no — oh, no! How terrible! Ian, how ter- 
rible! 

[She runs to him. Alarm clock, being 
intermittent, goes off again. 

Ian 

Eloise, if you listen to the voice of that clock — ! 

Eddy 
How bravely it tries to function in its grave ! 

Alice 
The death struggle — the last gasp! 



308 TICKLESS TIME 

[IVith another scream Eloise snatches 
spade, begins to dig; alarm clock 
gives another little gasp; spade is 
too slow for her: in her desperation 
goes to it with her hands. Gets it 
and, as she holds it aloft, the alarm 
clock rings its triumph. 

Eloise 

[Holding it to her ear,] It's ticking! It ticks! 
It ticks ! Oh, it's good to hear the ticking of a clock ! 
[As he hears this, Ian, after a moment 
of terrible silence, goes and unscrews 
the plate of the sun-dial. All watch 
him, afraid to speak. He takes it 
off, holds it above the grave from 
which the alarm clock has been res- 
cued. 

Eloise 

Ian! What are you doing? [He does not answer, 
but puts the sun-dial in the alarm clock's grave.] 
Ian! No! No! Not that! Not your beautiful 
sun-dial! Oh, no! Not that! 

[Ian, having finished the burial of the 
sun-dial, sees the alarm clock and 
puts it on the pedestal from which 
the sun-dial has been taken. 

Ian 

We bow down, as of old, to the mechanical. We 
will have no other god but it. 

[He then sits on the step, sunk in gloom. 
Annie appears, in her hand a pan- 
ful of water. 



TICKLESS TIME 309 

Annie 

This liver has to soak five minutes. I'll soak it 
here. [Sees the alarm clock; with a cry of joy.] 
My clock! My clock! [Overcome with emotion.] 
Oh! My clock! My clock! Can I take it in the 
house to finish dinner ? 

Eloise 

[In a hopeless voice.] Yes, take it away. 

[Beaming, Annie bears it to her kitchen. 
Eloise now kneels behind the grave 
of the sun-dial. 

Eddy 

Let us leave them alone with their dead. 

[Leads Alice to the corner of the house; 
they look off down the road. 
Eloise and Ian sit there on either 
side of the grave, swaying a little 
back and forth, as those who mourn. 

Eloise 

[Looking at grave.] I had thought life was going 
to be so beautiful. 

Ian 

It might have been. 

Eloise 

[Looking at empty pedestal.] I suppose it will 
never be beautiful again. 

Ian 
It cannot be beautiful again. 



310 TICKLESS TIME 

[Suddenly, with a cry, Eloise gets up 
and darts to the house: comes rac- 
ing back with the alarm clock, 
snatches spade, desperately begins to 
dig a grave. 

Eloise 

Ian! Ian! Don't you see what I'm doing? I'm 
willing to have a first-hand relation with the sun even 
though it's not regular. 

[But Ian is as one who has lost hope. 
Eddy and Alice turn to watch the 
re-burial of the alarm clock. Annie 
strides in. 

Annie 
[In no mood for feeling.] Where's my alarm clock ? 

Eloise 

I am burying it. 

Annie 

Again? [Looks at sun-dial.] And even the sun- 
clock's gone? 

Eddy 

All is buried. Truth. Error. We have returned 
to the nothing from which we came. 

Annie 

This settles it. Now I go. I leave. 

[Firm with purpose re-enters the house. 

Alice 
[Excitedly.] Eloise! She means it! 



TICKLESS TIME 311 

Eloise 

[Dully.] I suppose she does. 

[Continues her grave digging. 

Alice 

But you can't get anybody else! You can't get 
anybody now. Oh, this is madness. What does any 
of the rest of it matter if you have lost your cook ? 
[To Ian.] Eloise can't do the work! Peel potatoes 
— scrub. What's the difference what's true if you 
have to clean out your own sink ? [Despairing of him 
she turns to Eloise.] Eloise, stop fussing about the 
moon and stars! You're losing your cook! 

[Annie comes from the house with suit- 
case, shawl-strap and hand-bag on 
long strings. Marches straight to 
left of stage, makes a face at the 
sun, marches to gate left rear and 
off. 

Alice 

Eddy, go after her! Heavens! Has no one a 
mind ? Go after her ! 

Eddy 

What's the good of going after her without a clock ? 

Alice 

Well, get a clock ! For heaven's sake, get a clock ! 
Eloise, get off the grave of the alarm clock ! [Eloise 
stands like a monument. To Eddy.] Well, there are 
graves all around you. Dig something else up. No! 
You call her back. I'll — 

[Snatches spade, which is resting against 



312 TICKLESS TIME 

sun-dial pedestal, begins to dig. 
Eddy stands at back, calling. 

Eddy 
Annie! Oh, Annie! Wait, Annie! 

Alice 

[While frantically digging.] Say something to 
interest her, imbecile! 

Eddy 

[Stick in one hand, straw hat in the other, making 
wild signals with both.] Come home, Annie! Clock! 
Clock! [Giving up that job and throwing off his 
coat.] You interest her and I'll dig. 

[They change places. 

Alice 

She's most to the bend ! Eddy, don't you know 
how to dig? 

[Eddy, who has been digging with speed 
and skill, produces the. clock with 
which Eloise's grandmother started 
housekeeping. Starts to dash off 
with it. 

Eloise 

[Dully.] That clock doesn't keep time. Annie 
hates it. 

Ian 

[As if irritated by all this inefficiency.] What she 
wants is the alarm clock. Get off the grave, Eloise. 
[He disinters alarm clock and with it 
runs after Annie. Alice drawr 



TICKLESS TIME 313 

long breath and rubs her back. 
Eddy brings the clock he dug up and 
sets it on the pedestal. Then he 
looks down at the disturbed graves. 

Eddy 

Here's a watch! [Lifts it from the grave; holds 
it out to Eloise; she does not take it. He puts it 
on the pedestal beside the clock.] Here's another 
watch. [Holds up Ian's watch.] Quite a valuable 
piece of ground. 

[Now is heard the smothered voice of a 
cuckoo. 

Alice 
[Jumping.] What's that? 

Eloise 
The cuckoo. I suppose it's lonesome. 

Alice 

[Outraged.] Cuckoo! [Pointing.] In that grave? 
The cuckoo we gave you? [Eloise nods.] You 
buried our wedding present? [Eloise again nods. 
Eddy and Alice draw together in indignation.] 
Well, I must say, the people who try to lead the right 
kind of lives always do the wrong thing. [StiMy.] 
I am net accustomed to having my wedding presents 
put in graves. Will you please dig it up, Eddy? It 
will do very well on the mantel in our library. And 
my back nearly broken digging for your cook ! 

[She holds her back. While Eddy is 
digging up the cuckoo, Annie and 



314 TICKLESS TIME 

Ian appear and march across from 
gate to house, Annie triumphantly 
bearing her alarm clock, Ian — a 
captive at her chariot wheels — fol- 
lowing with suit-case, shawl strap 
and long strings of bag around his 
wrist. A moment later Ian comes 
out of the house, looks at each dug- 
up thing, stands by the grave of the 
sun-dial. Enter Mrs. Stubbs. 

Mrs. Stubbs 

Oh, Mr. Joyce, I've come to see your sun-clock 
again. Mr. Stubbs says he'll not be run from Phila- 
delphia. He says if you have got the time straight 
from the sun — [Sees that the sun-dial is gone.] 
Oh, do you take it in at night? 

Ian 

The sun-dial lies buried there. 

Mrs. Stubbs 

You've buried the sun-clock? And dug up all the 
wrong clocks? [With a withering glance at Eloise.] 
That's how a smart man's appreciated! What did 
you bury it for, Mr. Joyce ? 

[Eddy gives the cuckoo clock to Alice. 

Ian 

It cannot live in this world where no one wants 
truth or feeling about truth. This is a world for 
clocks. 

Mrs. Stubbs 

Well, / want truth! And so does Johnnie Stubbs! 



TICKLESS TIME 315 

If you'll excuse my saying so, Mr. Joyce, after you've 
made a thing- that's right you oughtn't to bury it, even 
if there is nobody to want it. And now that / want 
it — [Mrs. Stubbs takes the spade and begins to 
dig up the sun-dial. Ian cannot resist this and helps' 
her. He lifts the sun-dial, she brushes it off and he 
fits it to its place on the pedestal.] Now there it is, 
Mr. Joyce, and as good as if it had never seen the 
grave. [She looks at the setting sun.] And there's 
time for it to make its shadow before this sun has 
gone. 

Ian 

The simple mind has beauty. 

Eloise 
[Coming to him.] I want to be simpler. 

Mrs. Stubbs 
Now what time would you say it was, Mr. Joyce? 

Ian 

I would say it was twenty minutes of seven, Mrs. 
Stubbs. 

Mrs. Stubbs 

[Looking at Eddy and Alice and the cuckoo clock.] 
And they would say it was twenty minutes past six ! 
Well, / say : let them that want sun time have sun time 
and them that Want tick time have tick time. 

[Annie appears at the door. 

Annie 
[In a -flat voice.] It's dinner time! 
(Curtain) 



